


Frozenheart & Hiddenfire

by thehobbem



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (as in REALLY slow), (based off the book with touches of the movie), (you don't have to have read or watched either though), Fairy Tale Elements, HAPPY BIRTHDAY HAILEY!, Happy Ending, Howl's Moving Castle AU, M/M, Magic, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Slow Burn, dance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehobbem/pseuds/thehobbem
Summary: Being the youngest child in a family means you get to leave home and find Riches and Adventures your older siblings could only dream of - but Yuuri Katsuki wants nothing more than stay home and hide from Destiny. Which will be much harder to do once a certain ice wizard comes into town.





	1. In which Yuuri grows old in Hasetsu

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haileycl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haileycl/gifts).



> Happy birthday Hailey!!!  
> I had a completely different idea of a fic to write for your birthday - but as it turns out, I didn't like it very much (or not at all), and so when I laid eyes on my beaten copy of "Howl's Moving Castle" (my favorite fantasy book) I knew I'd found a better idea, one that I'd have much more fun writing and gifting to you than the trash I was previously writing! And this long rambling is just to explain why I'm delivering it so late!  
> I hope you have some fun reading this! ^_^

That the youngest son or daughter in the family was always destined to great things was common knowledge in all kingdoms, and Hasetsu was no exception. All an eldest child could do was hope not to screw things up too much by marrying a blue-bearded, secretly-a-serial-killer man, or being rude to mysterious old people or dwarves that they happened to meet on a trip.

That being so, Mari Katsuki was more than content to work at her family’s hot springs inn, secure in the knowledge that she’d take over the business when her parents were too old to run it themselves, and that she wouldn’t have to go on any journeys to “make her fortune”.

That was her little brother’s fate.

And if anyone asked Yuuri Katsuki, he’d say he was more than happy to help out at the inn while he waited for the right time to make his journey. What nobody ever asked him was whether he wouldn’t much rather stay at the inn, quietly helping his family forever, to which he’d immediately reply yes, yes he would, very much and couldn’t he do just that, please and thank you?

But you can’t answer questions that are not asked, and so Yuuri resigned himself to the fact that, as the youngest child, he would have to leave home someday to achieve Greatness – by rescuing some princess from a dragon or an evil ogre, or finding the water of life, or perhaps figuring out the answer to a riddle no one had ever been able to puzzle out before. He had no idea how he’d find Greatness, only that he had to despite his wishes to the contrary.

And now, while he manned the front desk of the inn past midnight, wide awake while everyone else was already fast asleep, his thoughts on the subject got crankier by the second: why couldn’t the Katsukis have had a third child? Then Yuuri would have been free to be forgotten by Fate as a mere second child out of three. Or why couldn’t Mari have been the youngest? She was smart, strong, brave, equal to anything and could face any troubles that were silly enough to cross her path.

Not Yuuri: he was shy, hesitant, useless in a crisis and could barely talk to strangers without stuttering – no wonder that man had laughed at him at Yulefest. But then again, when the human embodiment of Beauty decided to talk to you, what could you do but stutter? That had to be the only acceptable reaction, he was sure. Besides, what reason could someone like him have to talk to someone so forgettable as Yuuri other than sheer amusement? Well, Yuuri had obliged and promptly made a fool of himself by blushing from head to toe and blabbering about only the gods knew what.

He shouldn’t even have attended the festival anyway, but Mari had insisted.

_“Great Things are never going to happen to you if you stay home all the time.”_

She was right, of course, but Yuuri didn’t _want_ Great Things, he tried to hide from them as often as possible. It was just that between a sister who saw right through him and a best friend who wanted nothing more than Go On An Adventure, Yuuri really had no choice but to humor Fate sometimes. Very easy for Mari, with her entire future safely laid out in front of her, and Phichit, who could do whatever he wanted with his future as an only child – he could try for Great Things if he wanted to or stay home forever and take over his family’s pastry shop.

So Mari had kicked him out of the house back on Yule Day; he’d thought he’d simply get to spend time with Phichit at the shop, but no such luck: as the best (well, and only) pastry shop in town, Terra Incognita had been chock-full of customers, both regulars and tourists, eager for cakes and sweets for their Yuletide suppers, and Phichit hadn’t been free to give him any attention, much less go to the festival with him.

With no alternative, Yuuri had gone over to the main square where all the merriment he wanted no part of had been taking place. He’d settled on simply buying a bottle of mead, sitting at one of the tables and drinking on his own to cool himself down. The only thing to do was wait, until enough time had passed that Mari would be convinced he’d been Having Fun and Talking To People, i.e., been available for Fate to find him.

Had Phichit been there it would’ve been a different story: ever the social butterfly, he knew everyone and their cousins; what they were doing, had done and were going to do before they themselves knew about it. With Phichit by his side he could dance and laugh and hear all the gossip.

Alone, Yuuri was free to be painfully aware that people in Hasetsu, who had known him all his life, were silently questioning when exactly he’d leave home. Most youngest sons and daughters left on their journeys at eighteen, but six Yuletides had gone by since his eighteenth birthday and he still lived with his parents, no fortune made and no journey initiated. Young Kenjirou had turned seventeen a few months before and was already making preparations for his fortune-making journey come August next year – while Yuuri still remained, stuck between having to leave and really, _really_ not wanting to.

All caught up in the suffocating heat that surrounded him and in his bleak thoughts about Fate (more like Doom), half-way through his third bottle of mead and dangerously close to rock bottom, Yuuri was caught off-guard by the beautiful stranger suddenly taking the seat next to him – _gorgeous_ stranger, really, with his impossibly silver hair and a dazzling smile.

(And yet, Yuuri had managed to register from behind the alcohol fog in his mind that his smile didn’t reach all the way to those eyes, those clear, bright blue eyes he could totally drown in if given half a chance – and Yuuri would drown, he had no idea how to swim).

The minute the stranger sat next to him Yuuri had felt all eyes on them; it might have been because the most good-looking tourist in the history of Hasetsu had elected to sit next to pathetic, insipid Yuuri Katsuki, of all people, or maybe because the stranger, as handsome as he undoubtedly was, had some very… exotic choice of clothes.

Black pants with a grey shirt was more than okay, but _that_ _coat_. Long trailing sleeves and small crystals scattered on one side, pitch black on the outside and dark red on the inside; it was certainly unique. And now that he was closer, wasn’t his shirt a bit see-through? Wrapping up all the unusual garment choices, the stranger had a single ruby dangling from his right ear, while his hair fell over his shoulders and down his coat like a smooth, silvery waterfall.

With all the alcohol running wild through his system back then, he couldn’t remember now what the stranger had said for the life of him, only that he _had_ talked to him and that Yuuri, with his face and neck feeling hotter than ever, hadn’t been able to form cohesive words to answer him properly. The man had laughed, and the embarrassment that burned through Yuuri at the memory of it was enough to make him want to go on his goddamn journey already and _disappear_ , so that he would never risk seeing the gorgeous stranger ever again.

But Yuletide had come and gone, a full month had passed since then and he hadn’t seen the silver-haired man again. Which was a relief (and a pity at the same time).

He stifled a yawn and shifted in his chair; he usually liked the night shift at the front desk: it was silent, uneventful and he didn’t have to deal with the public too much (except for the odd tourist arriving late); today, however, he was feeling a little bored, a bit electric, and kind of wishing something would happen. Tonight felt like the warm calm before a storm.

And that was utterly silly of him, because nothing ever happened in Hasetsu.

…fine, that had technically stopped being true when that ice castle had sprung out of nowhere at the northern border at the beginning of the year. Everyone talked in whispered hushes, saying the castle belonged to none other than the Wizard Nikiforov, who controlled ice and stole the hearts of young people. No one knew what he looked like, only that he was to be avoided at all costs; after his arrival, curfews had become a thing and no one under 30 dared walking around alone after dark.

A mere week after that Phichit had barged into the Yu-topia inn, breathlessly informing Yuuri that the palace belonging to Madame Baranovskaya had materialized itself out of thin air at the southern border.

_“And who’s Madame Bara…what?”_

_“Yuuri! Madame Baranovskaya! She’s, like, the most famous witch ever? How can you not_ know _?!”_

But despite the fear that Madame Baranovskaya’s name inspired wherever it went, and the dread everyone felt when the name “Nikiforov” was merely hinted at, people in Hasetsu felt comfort in the fact that at least the Royal Wizard Giacometti was there to protect them.

(Even if some did whisper that the Royal Wizard was no match for either the witch or the evil wizard).

And now that Hasetsu was sandwiched between the Ice Castle and the Baranovskaya Palace, Yuuri had never felt less like leaving home, especially considering how close to the northern border Yu-topia was.

The bells of the main doors chimed and startled him; all the guests were in their bedrooms, was that a new one arriving? At this late hour?

Curious, he watched as a tall, dark-haired woman in a horrendous yellow dress opened the double doors with a dramatic gesture and gracefully walked in. Yuuri winced at the amount of makeup on her face, an obvious attempt at disguising her age that was clearly not working; nevertheless, that face was undeniably beautiful, even if it did resemble a skull somewhat. Between her natural beauty and majesty, and her atrocious fashion choices (complete with an awful brown fur stole that surely wasn’t necessary, it was a hot night), Yuuri didn’t know what to make of her.

Her heels came clicking down the hallway and she stopped in the middle of the lobby, examining the whole place with a disdainful eye and a displeased mouth. Yuuri immediately made up his mind then: she was a snob.

And he was not in the mood.

Yu-topia might not be the Leroy Palace, sure, but it was still a very good, comfortable inn, and his family had always poured their hearts into it to make sure it stayed that way. He was not about to put up with anyone looking down on their efforts.

“Welcome to Yu-topia, ma’am, may I help you?” He asked in his most formal tone of voice.

The look she gave him in turn was positively chilling.

“That remains to be seen. Is there a Yuuri Katsuki to be found here?”

“That’s me,” he answered with a curt nod, not wanting to show his surprise. He’d never seen that woman in his whole life (she was certainly memorable), why was she looking for him?

She raised a single brow and let the cold silence seep into their exchange for a few seconds, as she seemed to look straight into his soul with piercing green eyes.

“Come here.”

Yuuri did not feel like humoring that woman in the slightest, but she vaguely flicked her wrist and suddenly it didn’t seem like a bad idea; he got up in no time, glasses forgotten on the counter, and stood in front of her. Next thing he knew, she was unceremoniously opening his mouth and looking into it.

“No cavities.”

She let him go. Before he could protest, she flicked her wrist again and he was slowly turning around for her, like one would to show off their new clothes.

“Not abysmal, but I’ve seen better.”

He stopped turning (and he wasn’t sure if he’d stopped or if she’d willed him to stop) and faced her again; his face was completely flushed, but whether it was due to embarrassment or indignation it was hard to tell.

What the…?

She’d “seen better”?!

“ _Excuse_ me, but how exactly can I help you? Ma’am?” He hastily added the term, Mari would kill him if he ever addressed a potential guest without ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir’.

Well. Assuming she _was_ a potential guest, and not just an overly aggressive dentist or physician, because _really_.

“The only thing remarkable about you, young man, is how remarkably ordinary you are. I have no idea what he sees in you,” she said, contemptuously dismissing Yuuri’s question and Yuuri as a concept.

 _“…what he sees in you”_ ? He who?! And who was she?! Dealing with public always had its bad days, but this was too much. It was enough to have an entire city _and_ himself looking down upon him, he didn’t need strange women walking into his home to do that as well!

He straightened up his back as much as possible and headed for the doors, holding one of them open with much less dramatic flair than she had done a few minutes earlier, the door knob boiling hot in his hand:

“Ma’am, if that is all you came here for, I suggest you leave. If you need a place for the night, Mistress Okukawa has a couple of rooms to rent at the tavern. Good night.”

She gave him a slight frown but didn’t protest, walking towards the doors as majestically as she had walked in, only pausing on her way out to add:

“Nothing personal, young man. But some people need to learn certain lessons,” and with that and a final flick of her wrist, she was gone.

It was all Yuuri could do not to slam the door behind her.

He scoffed. _Really_ , now! Of all the inns in all the kingdoms, that crazy lady had to walk into his!

What had she come here for? Sure, Yuuri was far from being a magnificent specimen of a human being, but barging into an inn at 2am just to insult him was a bit too much. And they didn’t even know each other!

He rubbed his eyes; he’d ask Mari in the morning if she knew who that horrible woman was (unlikely as it seemed). He squinted at the lobby around him and rubbed his eyes once more: why was everything so blurred? He’d always been near-sighted, but never this much.

Yuuri went back to the counter to grab his glasses, and could only see clearly after putting them on – but was he seeing _less_ clearly than before? He must be sleepier than he thought.

When he tried to hop back on the tall stool, though, all his bones and joints complained, as if that had suddenly become too much to ask from them, so he slowly climbed back onto it. And despite having spent hours sitting there before the Crazy Lady Interlude, he couldn’t find a position that didn’t make him uncomfortable now, and his back was killing him.

Wow. The stress of dealing with her had affected him much more than he’d predicted.

He shrugged; only a few more hours before he could go to bed and forget about it. He took a piece of paper and absent-mindedly started drawing figure eights, his wrinkled hand only with a very light hold on the pen.

Wait.

He stared at his hands.

They were wrinkled. Why were they wrinkled? It was like he’d spent hours in a pool or a bathtub, but he hadn’t. He’d very much like to, but he _hadn’t._  They looked like his grandfather’s hands before he’d passed away in his late 80’s.

He turned around to look at the huge mirror on the wall behind the counter and squealed: his entire _self_ looked like his grandfather before he’d passed away in his late 80’s.

Looking back at that moment, Yuuri could not tell how much time he’d spent looking at his own haggard reflection, but he knew that by the time he was done examining his grey hair, the bags under his eyes and the wrinkles that plagued his entire face and covered his neck, the clock in the hall had struck a few too many times.

He looked out the window: the sun was not up yet, but the sky had already begun to clear. In one hour or so Mari would be up and his shift would be over. Then his parents would wake up, and all his family would see at the front desk was an old man – grandpa Katsuki risen from the dead, they’d think.

And he’d have to explain that no, he was the same old (ha!) Yuuri Katsuki, it was just that now he looked like he felt sometimes. That he’d simply aged 60 years overnight (only after that horrid woman had left, he finally realized; did she have magic powers, then? Was she a witch? No, that was ridiculous, Hasetsu had no witc – oh. They _did_ have a witch now, didn’t they? A powerful one, too).

He was now in his 80’s, having been forced to skip most of his life because Madame Baranovskaya apparently didn’t like the fact he didn’t have cavities.

Now, if he were lucky, he’d have some more 10 years of life, and that would be it. His parents would have to bury his youngest son before he’d even had the opportunity to leave home like a dutiful youngest son should. He couldn’t have that.

The entire kingdom already thought he was a failure, he couldn’t allow his family to think he’d _died_ a failure before he’d even lived properly.

He had to leave, and he had to leave now.

He’d never come back, and when he didn’t, they’d probably think he’d made his fortune in a place too far away for him to see them again – that happened a lot. It was rare for youngest children to find Greatness too close to home. Sometimes one happened to be blessed with seven-league boots or a magic ring that allowed them to cover great distances in the blink of an eye; those were the children that had the means to visit their families and provide for them after they’d found their riches, but they were a minority. Most never came back, and Yuuri could very well pretend to be one of most. Maybe he’d write them a letter someday, if he didn’t die too soon. A letter to them and another to Phichit.

Oh gods, Phichit would never forgive him. But it was either that or watching his best friend’s heart break in some years, when Yuuri was too old to walk to the pastry shop, too old to stroll around town with him, too old to shower himself. Too old to dance. Too old to wake up in the morning.

Yuuri grabbed two sheets of paper and wrote two short letters (why was the pen so hot?), very simple letters, in which he stated he couldn’t wait anymore to go on his Journey and begged for forgiveness. He addressed one to the Katsukis and the other to Phichit

He left the two envelopes neatly side by side, next to the notepad and ink pens under the counter, so that they were hidden from the guests’ view but could be easily found by Mari. Then he left, not noticing the pen was slightly melted, and hurried to his bedroom (how many times hadn’t he complained that his bedroom was on the first floor, too close to the main hall and therefore too noisy when he tried to sleep in the morning? Now he was grateful he didn’t have to climb the stairs – by the way his joints screamed when he’d sat on the stool, he knew stairs would’ve been an even bigger challenge).

He took a couple of shirts, a pair of pants, a coat, a scarf and made a bundle with it all; then on to the kitchen, where he shoved some bread, cheese, smoked fish and a flask of water in a bag.

That was all he needed, he supposed, before he reached another kingdom.

Yuuri took one long last look at the hall and at the picture next to the bell on the counter – a black and white picture of him with his parents and sister. It was physically painful to tear his look away from that image, but he reminded himself he was doing it for them. As silently as he could, he opened one of the doors and let the bells chime quietly behind him as he left Yu-topia forever.

 

* * *

 

The sun had long been up in the sky by the time Yuuri stopped in the middle of a meadow to have a quick lunch; he’d covered much less ground than he’d thought he would, but he’d failed to consider his legs were much weaker now. If he still had the legs and the strength of a 23-year old he’d already be in the Cialdini kingdom, but…

It was still winter and a cold wind blew incessantly from the north, but Yuuri still felt too warm; walking for hours no doubt did that to you. If he stopped for a bit longer he’d probably cool down – and he definitely needed to stop, how much longer could his heart take of that ruthless walk?

He let his weary legs rest for more than an hour, while he thought of what must be happening back home. Mari must have found his letters hours ago and been pleased with its contents (a little baffled at the _suddenness_ of it too, sure, but overall pleased), and the sentiment would most likely be echoed by their parents.

With a pang of guilt, he remembered that by now Phichit must have also received his own letter, and Yuuri made an effort not to think of how his best friend was feeling. It was all for the best, he told himself.

Feeling his back crack a little, he stood up and moved on. He might not have gotten to the neighboring kingdom yet, but hopefully he’d manage to before nightfall.

When the sky had abandoned its golden sunset light in favor of hues that darkened by the second, he was forced to admit he’d overestimated his abilities again: he was only now nearing the northern border of Hasetsu. Yuuri cussed at his old man legs and Madame Baranovskaya in the same breath; if only he hadn’t brushed his teeth so thoroughly all his life he might have had some cavities, and then _maybe_ the witch wouldn’t have cursed him.

Maybe there was still time? Maybe she could revert the spell and give him back his youth?

Yuuri was so caught up in his plan, firmly vowing to never brush his teeth again so as to satisfy the woman, that he didn’t register at first the wind getting colder, or the grass gradually becoming snow or that he was way too close to the only building in sight since he’d left town. But when a snowflake melted against his nose he looked up sharply: the Ice Castle was right in front of him.

Back when the news of the castle had reached his ears, Yuuri had thought people were exaggerating, surely it wasn’t a _castle_? As he gaped at it, he realized he’d been right all along.

A castle should have a moat, a drawbridge, ramparts, towers, turrets, long looming walls with parapet walks. This had nothing of the sort, and was much more beautiful than a castle could ever be. It was a singular and somewhat irregular building, made of long, finely sculpted blocks of ice, each one of a different size and width until they all came to an elegantly jagged summit. It was exquisite in its asymmetry and it glimmered in the dusk.

All of that to shelter a heartless wizard.

For once in his life, Yuuri wasn't nervous. He'd known he was bound to walk by the Ice Castle, it was his only option. For him to reach any of the kingdoms in the south he’d have to cross the southern border, where the Baranovskaya Palace was, and Yuuri was not going anywhere near it; in the east there was the ocean, and as he’d always gotten horribly motion sick whenever he merely thought of boats, a sea voyage was out of question; in the west lay only bare lands and mountains where the Yang Principality had once stood (long ago, before the war).

His one hope of getting to another kingdom, therefore, was going north – and although Wizard Nikiforov was said to be the most wicked among the wicked, the stories all agreed that he didn’t steal the hearts of anyone over 30. Yuuri was 80 now and had nothing to worry about (probably).

So he walked on, quite unperturbed at the thought of the evil wizard and still unable to tear his gaze away from the castle – what _did_ make his heart start beating faster was the unfamiliar, but unmistakable, howling coming from the forest.

Wolves.

He picked up the pace, as close to running as he could. Now there were other sounds as well: bushes rustling and leaves being crushed underfoot as someone – _something_ – slowly stepped on them; sounds still far, but that wouldn’t remain so for long.

With the dark forest to his left, the large, flat meadow to his right and the castle in front of him, Yuuri didn’t even have to think twice. He reached the main (and seemingly only) door before the sounds got too close and the night too dark, and he knocked.

Nothing.

Great. Now he was standing still against a giant block of ice that sparkled in the dark, making him no better than a sitting duck; he looked over his shoulder: the wolves had abandoned the shadows of the trees and taken the road, eyes fixed on Yuuri.

This was exactly why he’d always thought Going On An Adventure was overrated.

He knocked frantically, but that still yielded no results and his breathing was fast and shallow now, was that how he was going to die? Not of old age, but eaten by wolves without even managing to leave Hasetsu? He grabbed the door knocker – a poodle face? – and knocked again with all his strength (not a lot), until his hand was sore and sweat had started gathering on his forehead. 

The growling was coming from much closer than he would’ve liked; Yuuri chose not to look back, banging on the door with the knocker again – and it melted.

The knocker was quickly melting on his right hand, and he let go of it.

Why it’d melted was a question for another hour, if he managed to survive. Desperate, he pushed against the huge block of ice that was the door, and it instantly began to melt; he stopped and stared.

Was _he_ melting the door?

Yuuri pushed again to confirm that theory, sparing just a quick glance at the wolves – _gods_ – and the door melted some more and, well, that was going to have to be his way in. He kept on melting the ice until the hole in it was big enough for him; he hunched and squeezed himself through, tumbling down on the other side of the door and hearing the wolves running. When they threw themselves at the door to go after him, though, the door had become solid ice again, right under Yuuri’s horrified stare.

There was no hole on the door anymore.

But he could still hear the wolves growling outside, so he hastily got up and barred the door, sliding the enormous bolt through the staples. He took a few steps back to appreciate his own efficiency and it hit him: that was a wooden door. And a wooden bolt. And simple, old metal staples.

It had been ice and now it was mere wood. Solid wood, sure, but _still._  Where was the ice?!

“Oi!”

He turned around: a teenager was sitting at a long table by a window, staring at Yuuri and looking utterly dumbfounded.

“How did you get in here?!”

“Um. Through the door.”

The boy’s eyes widened in shock, and Yuuri held in a smile. Would the boy believe him if he said “I melted the door”?

Debatable. It was something highly unlikely for a common old man to do; on the other hand, that boy was in the Ice Castle, so if there was one thing he had to be acquainted with was magic.

The thought that that teenager could be the Wizard Nikiforov himself was impatiently dismissed; he was not a day older than 16, that was for sure, and Nikiforov had been a famous wizard since Yuuri’s childhood (when Nikiforov had tried to steal the Royal Wizard Giacometti’s heart. If the rumors were to be believed, Giacometti had barely escaped with his life).

No, that boy had to be a servant or perhaps an apprentice, judging by the fact he had a long scroll in his hands and seemed to be mixing some very weird ingredients in a bowl.

And he was definitely too hostile to be a servant. He growled at Yuuri, not unlike the wolves outside, and turned his look back to the scroll.

“Cute. Now leave!”

Leaving just happened to not be an option at the moment, so Yuuri ignored the command and walked further into the room, realizing for the first time how simple it was, and without a single hint of ice. It was actually smaller than the lobby of Yu-topia, and it reminded him of some of the older houses in Hasetsu, with its old wooden floors and roof beams and its single long (very dusty) window. The table underneath it was also made of unvarnished wood, as well as its two chairs (one of them with only three legs) and one stool.

Across from the window there was a stone fireplace with a very loud fire cracking; on its wooden mantelpiece, nothing but a small potted plant and a rusty purple lantern with its light on – despite the fact that there was an enormous, clearly expensive crystal chandelier all lit up hanging from the ceiling and very much at odds with the rest of the place.

On the far wall between the fireplace and the window there were two doors, and right in front of Yuuri, across from the main door, a small staircase leading to one single door. And that was all there was to the “castle”.

Yuuri was surprised, but more than that, he was annoyed. It was bigger on the outside, and just an old house inside! How dare that wizard? What a charlatan.

“Oi, old man, I said _leave_! Do you not know who this castle belongs to?”

“Pff, ‘castle’? I don’t think so,” Yuuri replied without missing a beat. He didn’t usually talk to strangers that way, but he was old and owed nothing to anyone now, and frankly, he was exhausted from the day he'd just had.

The boy rolled his eyes. “Fine, it just looks like a castle. Happy? Now leave, what are you even doing here?!”

“I was running from the wolves, and… well, I intend to keep hiding from them as long as it takes. I’m not in the mood for being torn apart, you see.”

Slightly taken aback by that, the boy clearly tried to think of an answer. He might be the apprentice to an evil wizard, but he didn’t seem to think throwing an old man to the wolves was a good idea.

“There are wolves outside?” he finally asked. Yuuri nodded.

“Yes, they came from the forest.”

He huffed. “I knew it was a bad idea to settle here, but did he listen? Of course not, he never does. Never listens to anyone,” he mumbled.

As the young apprentice didn’t seem so bent on having him leave anymore, Yuuri took a few steps around the room, noticing that at one end of the table there were a couple of plates with bread crumbs. It reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in half a day, and now would be a great time for dinner.

He carefully sat on the three-legged chair (stools were definitely a bad idea for his back) and took his food out of the bag.

“What’s your name, boy?” He asked, and the teen looked at him sideways.

“…Yuri.”

They had the same name? What were the odds of the infamous Wizard Nikiforov having an apprentice called Yuri?! He chuckled lightly, which earned him a dirty look from the other Yuri.

“What’s so funny about my name?”

“No, it’s not funny, I like it. I was… thinking of something else. Would you like a sandwich, Yuri?”

He immediately dropped the herbs he was chopping and looked at him with hungry but suspicious eyes, like he desperately wanted to take him up on his offer but still didn’t trust him. Which made a lot of sense, really.

“A sandwich? Of what?”

“Uh, I only have cheese and smoked fish. And white bread.”

Yuri hesitated, staring at him and licking his lips, seemingly thinking a lot of things over, and eventually gave in.

“…yeah. Yeah, I want one. Please.”

‘Please’ had definitely been added as an afterthought, but it had been added all the same, and Yuuri made him a sandwich with a generous serving of fish and cheese. And by the way he ate it, the boy must have been starving _._  Did the wizard not feed him?!

Yuuri examined the teenager discreetly while they ate in silence: he was really skinny, with long blonde hair to his shoulders and green eyes. A handsome boy, and clearly intelligent enough to be a wizard's apprentice (that couldn’t be easy, right?). Diligent, too, as he took turns between eating and working on his… whatever that was. So why wasn’t he working with something else, learning a different trade?

Or, if he was really intent on becoming a wizard himself, why not learn from a different master? Yuri said “please” and hadn’t thrown Yuuri out to the wolves, he was not evil. He might have an appalling fashion sense, if the leopard print coat he was wearing was any indication, but he was not evil.

“There’s some water over there, if you want,” Yuri pointed at a pitcher on the table, his mouth still full of cheese and fish.

“Thank you. You wouldn’t have any tea, would you?” He already missed the green tea his mother made every day. It wouldn’t be the same if he made it himself, but it would still be better than nothing.

“You don’t ask for much, do you? A place to hide, tea, my name… here,” the teenager grabbed some leaves from a bag hanging from a nail by the window and shoved them in his hand. “Make that two, then, since you’re at it.”

Yuuri poured some of the water from the pitcher into an old cheap pan lying around, and hung it over the fire in the fireplace. While he waited for the water to boil, he noticed a gold medallion in a red ribbon, hanging from a tiny nail on the mantelpiece. He took it in his hands lightly to see better: it didn’t look like real gold, and there was an inscription on it: _Odintsovo 2004_. He didn’t even want to know what that meant - probably something dark, if it was Nikiforov’s. He carefully put it back.

Then his eyes fell on the lantern on the mantelpiece, and he finally noticed that it wasn’t the lantern that was purple, as he’d thought at first, but rather the light itself. And the light came from no candle either, it was just… a shining ball of purple light (well, _lilac_ , if he wanted to get technical).

He leaned closer to it, and to his surprise he found a small pair of eyes staring back at him. He blinked, but then thought it’d be rude to seem like he hadn’t noticed that light was very much alive, so he did what any civilized person would.

“Hello. Good evening.”

“Hi,” the light answered. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Yuuri.”

At that, the teenager turned on the chair and scowled at him. “Your name’s Yuri too?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

The old man shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“You!...”

Yuuri heard faint snickering: the light was _laughing_.

“Aren’t we going to get along well! I’m Lilac, nice to meet you. I’m afraid there’s no room for you, though, so you’ll have to sleep on the floor tonight.”

“What do you mean ‘sleep on the floor’? Lilac, he’s not staying!” Yuri barked.

Lilac was just a shapeless ball of iridescent lavender light, but Yuuri could swear it’d just shrugged.

“What do you suggest then, that he sleep outside? With the wolves?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, so he deflected. “Victor’s not gonna like it.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that, Yurochka.”

“Fine, then, this one is on you.” And with that he went back to his scroll, pointedly ignoring both of them.

Lilac chuckled and whispered secretively to Yuuri, “He has no idea of what Victor would or would not like.”

“Who’s Victor?” he whispered back.

“I may be wrong, but I think there’s something boiling,” said a new voice and Yuuri turned on his heels – and had he been holding the pan of boiling water he would’ve most certainly dropped it.

The silver-haired stranger from the Yulefest was standing in the middle of the room.

Yuuri held his breath: the stranger looked as gorgeous and graceful as ever and Yuuri would probably embarrass himself the minute he opened his mouth, just like he had at the festival that day.

The stranger looked at him and cocked his head like a curious puppy (and so did the enormous brown poodle by his side), and with a sick feeling in his stomach he remembered that the stranger wouldn’t recognize him anymore, _he was 80._

Well, maybe he wouldn’t have anyway, it was not like Yuuri had made a lasting impression. But his being prematurely, horribly aged actively killed every small chance of that happening, and he told himself it was for the best.

Did he have to be so stunning, though? Was that really necessary?! And his clothes, they were just as flamboyant, and suited him just as well, as the ones he’d worn on Yule Day. Dark pants and a slightly unbuttoned white shirt (and there was no need for it to be unbuttoned other than him knowing it looked good), on top of which he’d thrown a see-through pink coat with hanging golden strands (some of which disappeared among the silver hair that insisted on cascading over his shoulders, seemingly untamable even when tied down).

No one else could’ve pulled off that outfit but him. Even his long fingerless gloves were flattering, if such a thing was possible, and the blue crystal dangling from his right ear matched his eyes perfectly.

Yuuri was so disconcerted to meet him again that when the poodle came to sniff at his pants and happily bark at him, he welcomed the opportunity to have something to do other than stare, and scratched the dog behind its ears. He failed to see the obvious in the first few seconds, and it wasn’t until the Yulefest Stranger distractedly took off his gloves and negligently threw them on the table, still looking at Yuuri with inquisitive eyes, that it hit him: the man moved about as if he owned the place.

Oh gods.

The stranger was –

“Victor!” Yuri got up so fast he almost knocked his chair down, “what the hell, the spell you gave me to work is wrong!”

The apprentice almost shoved the scroll on the stranger’s face – Victor, the Gorgeous Yulefest Stranger and _Wizard Nikiforov_ – and Victor took a step back with his brow furrowed in confusion. His poodle, meanwhile, not wanting to take part in the next procedures, calmly trotted upstairs.

“What do you mean ‘wrong’, Yuri? I’m pretty sure that –”

“Look!”

Victor stared at the scroll perplexed, but as soon as he read the first lines of the supposed spell he blushed a little – and Yuuri found out right there and then that he’d never been more wrong when he’d thought the man couldn’t possibly get any more beautiful: that gentle tint of red on his cheeks brought an unexpected, but very becoming, tenderness to his face.

The other Yuri, meanwhile, was babbling away, furious.

“It says ‘weeping’, so I got some of that weeping willow bark you brought last week, right? And then a glass of wine, that one was obvious, at least. Then I thought that line about cutting throats with swords was literally about using a sword to cut something? But you don’t have any swords here, so I figured it must be a reference to sword grass – so I went out and got some of that. Then –”

A soft laugh interrupted him. “Yuri, this is not a spell, why on all the kingdoms would you think that?”

Yuri gaped at him. “You said the best spells usually came in verses, because the best kind of magic –”

“Didn’t you find it weird that there were no references to the _quantity_ of each ‘ingredient’? How were you even calculating them?”

The boy shifted on his feet, uncomfortable, and looked at the floor, face red as a beet.

“I… I was just… throwing them in?”

Vitor widened his eyes at him. “You were _guessing_ the quantities? And throwing them in _where_?”

“The bowl.”

“What, did you chop them or…?” The amusement in Victor’s voice was blatant now, and Yuuri bit back a smile. The boy answered with a small, sullen voice.

“I was crushing and grinding them with a pestle.”

Victor snickered and went over to the table to take a look at it; not able to hold back, Yuuri did the same, still keeping some distance from the wizard. When Victor lifted the bowl Yuuri could see there was a weird grey paste in there.

Victor wrinkled his nose. “What’s this smell?”

“It said ‘burning passion’, so I…” He stopped. Victor raised a brow at him.

“So you...?”

“…I went out, bought a passion fruit and burned it.”

The laughter Victor let out then was probably heard all the way back in town, and Yuri punched the table.

“That’s not funny! And you owe me one bronze coin for the fruit!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll pay you back later… but Yuri, really now,” the wizard seemed a little dismayed at his student, “no matter how cryptic the instructions of a spell may be, they have to specify the quantities and the tools to be used. You had to know this was not a spell.”

Yuri bit his lips. “I thought it was weird as hell, but _you_ gave me the scroll, _you_ said you were giving me something a little more difficult, for a change! What was I supposed to think?! This is your fault!”

“Oh. So where did I put the actual spell?”

“No idea! I can’t believe you made me waste an entire day on something that wasn’t even a spell! What is that, anyway?”

Victor rolled the scroll up and held it firmly in his hands. “Nothing important,” he replied with a tight smile. At that moment, the brown poodle came downstairs carrying a large fluffy pillow, dropped it by the fire and lay on it.

While they argued (well, while Yuri argued and Victor did a poor job of pretending to care), Yuuri worked on the tea; he’d never seen those leaves young Yuri had given him, and the tea was getting darker and darker; the smell was strong and rich, and it was very possible he was going to need some sugar or milk for that. He’d boiled enough water for three, so he might as well pour some tea for the wizard, since he owned the place and all, and still hadn’t thrown him out. If only he could find…

“Lilac, where can I find mugs or cups?” He asked in a low voice to the light. She answered in the same tone.

“On that shelf under the table, near the wall.”

There were three tiny shelves there, on which there were some glasses, mugs and plates. He quickly found that bending over to get the mugs was going to be much harder than he’d anticipated. On his second attempt he had to stifle a groan as his back complained, and immediately stood straight again, giving himself some time to reel back from the pain.

Suddenly, Victor was right by his side, promptly bending over and grabbing the mugs for him, still talking to his apprentice.

“…what _Agape_ looked like, Yuri?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do. But that one’s weird too!”

“It’s not weird,” Victor explained patiently, “it’s just on a level you’re not used to yet. That is the level we need to get you to, by the way. So, for future reference, a spell should look more or less like _Agape_ did, not this song.” He put the mugs on the table and smiled brightly at Yuuri.

“So that’s a song?” Yuri asked, full of curiosity. Victor tried to contain a sigh and failed.

“…Yes. Now throw that paste away, it looks gross and smells even worse.”

Yuri mumbled something and disappeared through one of the doors with the bowl in his hands. Then the wizard finally turned his attention and a small smile to Yuuri, while receiving a mug of tea from him.

“Ah, thank you very much. So?”

Yuuri looked away, then back at him. “So?...” He echoed.

“Who are you? You weren’t here when I left.”

Yuuri sipped some of his own tea. Damn, that was strong. “…Are you sure?”

Victor’s smile got bigger. “I think I’d remember.”

“You don’t even remember where you put the correct spell for Yuri. If I were as forgetful as you, I wouldn’t trust my memory so much,” he pointed out calmly. If he was going to be an old man, he might as well take advantage of it and not explain himself to anyone anymore.

Victor smiled broadly. “That’s a very good point, I _am_ a forgetful person! Well then,” he bowed dramatically, almost spilling some of his tea, “I hope you’ll forgive me for having forgotten whether you were here or not before I left. Would you give me – or perhaps remind me of – your name?”

“I’m Yuuri.”

Victor’s eyebrows shot up. “Like my apprentice? How confusing. And I see you’ve met Lilac?”

Yuuri looked at the light and smiled at it. “Yes, I have.”

“Hmm. How?”

"How"? What a weird question. “I… saw it there? And said hi. And it said hi back. You know. The usual.”

Victor nodded, thoughtfully. “Yes. The usual.”

There was a moment of silence, during which Victor looked at him with an expression Yuuri didn’t understand.

The door opened again, waking up the dog who’d been peacefully sleeping, and Yuri was back with the bowl now empty and clean. Yuuri gave him his mug of tea, and his frown relented somewhat.

“Thanks. Victor, did you bring more food?”

“I did not. You see,” he looked at Yuuri with a bright smile and a wink, “I forgot!”

“Of course you did…” The boy grumbled.

“Yurio, will you please get the folding bed from your bedroom and set it up under the stairs?”

“What did you call me?!”

“Yurio!” Victor’s smile just then had the exact shape of a heart – fitting, for a wizard renowned for stealing hearts. But also ridiculously endearing. Yuuri was still trying to find the Evil in his host, and still coming up empty.

“I mean,” he continued, “you’re both Yuri, I’m going to get really confused that way, so one of you has to have a nickname. And you don’t like it when I call you Yurochka, so Yurio it is.”

“Why can’t he have a nickname, then? You can call him Old Yuri!”

Victor frowned. “Yuri Plisetsky, don’t be disrespectful.”

Yuri seemed shaken by the reprimand, light as it was – but Yuuri had the feeling Victor was not much for scolding, so even that mild chiding from him was big enough for Yuri to feel.

“Sorry. Okay, then how about I’m Yuri One and he’s Yuri Two?”

“Nope!” Victor answered cheerfully. “In that case he'd have to be Yuri One.”

“I got here first!”

“And he got to life first, so you’d be Yuri Two. Are you okay with that?”

Yuri was obviously not okay with it, and that had to be the most childish discussion Yuuri had ever seen.

“That’s what I thought! So Yurio, please. The folding bed.”

Yuri gave up and went away, slowly drinking his tea.

“So Yuuri… have you come here to be my apprentice as well?” Victor asked with a smile, and Yuuri narrowed his eyes. As if it wasn’t obvious he was too old to be an apprentice of anything.

“I just came to run away from the wolves that were chasing me. I can leave in the morning.”

“And where are you going?”

“I…” _I’m going on a fortune-making journey_ would sound ridiculous, old men didn’t go on journeys, they merely bid farewell to those who did. And was it even true? “I don’t know. I’m just… wandering, I guess.”

“Why don’t you stay, then?” Lilac suggested quietly from its place on the mantelpiece. Victor looked at it, but said nothing. The light went on, “You could help around the house, maybe cook?”

Victor’s eyes lit up at that. “Ohhhhh, yes! Can you cook?”

“Um, yes, I can.”

“Then it’s a deal! You’ll stay with us and be our cook! I do my best, but Yuri is growing up so fast, he needs a proper meal, and I can’t cook to save my life!”

The boy in question reappeared, this time with the folding bed under his arm.

“Yurio! Yuuri’s gonna be our cook!”

“Great.” He answered indifferently. “So you should find him a better place to sleep than under the stairs.”

“Why, don’t be silly, Yurio, you’re the one who’s gonna sleep under the stairs.”

“What?!”

“You didn’t think I’d make him sleep in this horrible little folding bed, did you? Honestly, Yurio, I’m surprised at you.”

“You’re giving him my bedroom?!”

Yuuri felt the need to intervene before the boy hated him too much.

“There’s no need for that, I can sleep on that bed, really. I’ve slept in worse places.” The nights spent on the hard tiles of the kitchen floor, while all the bedrooms in the inn (including his) went under renovation, were still too vivid a memory.

“Nonsense, Yuuri, I won’t have that. Besides, it’s only for a few days, just until I can get you a proper bed, and then we’ll turn that nook under the stairs into a bedroom for you. It’ll be small, but better than nothing. And while that doesn’t happen, you can sleep in Yuri’s bed, and he’ll be _more than happy_ to use the folding cot. Right, Yurio?”

The look Yurio gave his master in return was positively venomous. Yuuri was surprised Victor hadn’t dropped dead from it.

While Yuri wrestled the cot open, the wizard gave his new living guest a “tour” of the castle, with the poodle close on their heels.

“You’ve seen the living room, of course, this is it. Those stairs lead to my bedroom,” he pointed, “and that door is the bathroom.” He opened one of the doors near the fireplace: it was a surprisingly luxurious bathroom, with black and white marble floor, a white sink, a black bathtub and a huge white vanity with an enormous mirror and a dozen different products scattered all over it.

“And this is your temporary bedroom!” He opened the next door; it was a simple room with a bed, a writing desk and a chest of drawers, all made of wood and well preserved despite being old. There were a few scrolls and ink pens on the desk; on the chest, just a frame with a black and white picture of an old man holding what was clearly a very young Yuri Plisetsky. That was the only personal touch in the room.

“So you can leave your, uh, bag here,” Victor added, waving vaguely at Yuuri’s bundle of clothes. Yuuri cleared his throat:

“And… is there a kitchen in the house?”

Victor looked as if the thought had never crossed his mind, and his face lit up like a Yuletide tree.

“A kitchen!” He snapped his fingers. “I knew there was something missing!”

“Where do you store your food, if you don’t have a kitchen?!”

“On the table, of course!”

“...You really need a cook.”

“Yuuri, you’re brilliant. I’ll get you the best bed and a kitchen!”

He’d "get a kitchen"? How?! (Well, Victor was a wizard, so everything was possible.)

“Aaaand,” Victor continued excitedly, as if he’d been saving the best for last, “ _this_ is Maccachin!” He made a grand gesture at the dog, and Yuuri smiled: the “evil” Wizard Nikiforov was a dog person, who would’ve thought?

Yuuri wanted to kneel and play with the dog - having a dog of his own was a life-long, unfulfilled dream - but that was beyond what he felt his new old knees could do, so instead he lightly patted his right leg in an invitation. Maccachin took him up on the offer right away, jumping on the new person very gently, as if he could tell Yuuri was too old to support his full weight. Yuuri played with him for a while and cooed at him, before realizing Victor was watching them with a warm smile.

“Maccachin likes you, Lilac invited you to stay, Yurio didn’t hate you…” He seemed to be considering Yuuri like one would a new painting. “You’re off to a great start, Yuuri. Welcome.”

Yuuri blushed a little, the first time since he’d been cursed. “Um, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

They had a light dinner a few hours later (after Yurio had forced Victor to go out again and buy them some food), and in a matter of minutes Yurio was yawning. After a trip to the bathroom, and a “night” grumbled their way, Yurio put on his pajamas (a flannel affair strewn with dozens of little tigers) and retired to his makeshift bedroom under the stairs. He was snoring in five minutes .

Yuuri felt the fatigue settling into every single bone he had as well, so he excused himself and retired for the night, leaving Victor with Maccachin and Lilac in the living room.

Yurio’s bed was softer than it looked, and he felt even more sorry for being responsible for making the boy sleep in that precarious cot - but then, 80-year old Yuuri probably needed a soft bed much more than Yurio right now; the comforter would have to go unused, he was still feeling warm (he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt really cold - maybe a minor inconvenience from a particularly chilly wind, that was all).

He hoped the open door would let some fresh air in, but it was also bringing the sound of Victor’s and Lilac’s voices.

“Did you notice?” Victor asked in a serious voice, more serious than he’d used all night. Tired, too.

“Of course. It’s not really subtle, is it?”

“No, not at all. Yurio didn’t notice, though.”

Lilac scoffed. “He wouldn’t. He’s still got a long way to go. What about you, did you go to town today too?”

“Yes.” Victor managed to sound glum with one simple word.

“No luck?”

“Nothing! He’s nowhere to be found! I’m beginning to think I hallucinated him into life!”

“Victor, don’t be dramatic, you haven’t been looking for that long,” Lilac replied drily.

“But Hasetsu is not that big, I should’ve found him by now! Where _is_ that man?”

“What if he was a tourist, in town just for Yulefest?”

Victor gasped loudly. “That can’t be! I brought the castle here just to find him!”

“Yeah, Yurochka was really happy about that,” Lilac answered sarcastically.

“I have to find him, Lilac, I’m telling you: he’s It.”

The light sighed. “How can you be so sure, Vitya?”

“I just know it! You should’ve seen him, he was -”

“Yes, you told me a thousand times already,” the light interrupted the wizard, sounding weary, “how handsome and how - ”

“Gorgeous! The most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in all the realms, and his smile? I don’t know why the town even bothered with Yuletide lights, that smile alone could light up the entire kingdom!”

From his bed Yuuri couldn’t help but roll his eyes: Victor had a glaring flair for the dramatic. Who was he even describing?

“And the way he moved! I could’ve danced with him for days! Lilac, I know he’s the other half of the duet, I could feel it.”

Wow. Victor had been really busy at Yulefest, apparently, dancing and falling in love with… whomever he’d met after he’d left Yuuri’s table. His eyes grew heavier and his whole body begged for sleep, but at the same time he was more than curious: who could it possibly be? The town had its fair share of handsome men who could dance, but he couldn’t think of anyone that qualified as “the most beautiful man in all the realms”. The only person he could see fitting that description was Victor himself.

“And those eyes...” Victor continued, “they were like fire _._ ”

He sighed and added in a low voice, “Where is he?...”

That was the last thing Yuuri heard before he fell asleep.


	2. In which there are too many doors in the castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late with starbucks, but also with ch.2! ^^

There’s a certain time in the morning when, even as you’re fast asleep, you can feel the sun slowly creeping past the curtains on your window, seeping into your subconscious little by little until your mind is _too_ aware of the trespass, and you have no choice but to wake up. That’s the point when most people open their eyes.

Yuuri, of course, was not most people.

The sun had already been blasting through the naked windows for hours when his brain finally jerked him awake – rousing him from a dream in which a dentist blithely informed him his teeth were riddled with cavities, and an older lady in yellow drily declared he was in optimal condition for her training. When Yuuri had asked “what training?”, she’d answered “you will become a prima ballerina”.

That was when his brain had seen fit to wake him up, for which he was grateful. The problem was that, as soon as he opened his eyes, he instantly regretted it and shut them tight again: sunlight was practically blazing through the window, where were the curtains? And why were these walls so _white_ , where were the wooden panel walls of his bedroom? Had there been some sort of flash renovation around Yu-topia the day before that he wasn’t aware of?!

He sat up: this was not his bedroom. Or any bedroom in Yu-topia. Whose bedroom was this? Had he drunk too much again, _where was he?!_

His eyes fell on a black and white picture of an old man holding a smiling child, and the memories of yesterday came crashing down on him.

The bedroom was Yuri Plisetsky’s.

Yuri lived with the Gorgeous Yulefest Stranger.

Gorgeous Yulefest Stranger = the wicked Wizard Nikiforov.

(Who happened to have the cutest dog in all of creation and was still gorgeous.)

He was in the Ice Castle, which meant… he looked at his own hands and sighed: still wrinkled.

Still old.

Well, if the bad taste in his mouth was anything to go by, he hadn’t brushed his teeth the night before, so that was a start. Maybe he could still get in the “optimal condition” Madame Baranovskaya desired from him, and then she’d lift the curse.

A guy could dream.

Yuuri’s first instinct was to hop out of bed, but nothing was that simple when you were 80+ years old. He slowly got one leg at a time out of bed. His right foot landed on the cold wooden floor, but the left one landed on something soft: there was a pair of cute woolen slippers by his bed. Were they Yuri’s? But they hadn’t been there last night, and they looked brand-new.

Well, young Yuri certainly wouldn’t mind him wearing his slippers, if they were indeed his.

(…Okay, he would probably mind it very much.)

But the only shoes Yuuri had were his old pair of boots, which were definitely for walking long distances and not at all for staying home. The slippers would have to do for now; besides, they fit him perfectly.

He found his poor bundle of clothes by the foot of the bed where he’d left it; he’d ended up sleeping in the clothes he’d worn all day yesterday, since pyjamas hadn’t been at the top of his list when he’d left Yu-topia (fled from it, more like it), and now he was a creased mess. But as he changed into a fresh set of clothes he found something else that hadn’t been there the night before either: a neatly folded pair of pyjamas on top of the chest of drawers. Were they also Yuri’s? He unfolded the mysterious sleepwear: no, they couldn’t be the boy’s, the pants were too long and the top part also seemed slightly larger than necessary.

They were Yuuri’s exact size, though.

And the exact same shade of blue as the shirt he’d been wearing yesterday ( _and_ it was made of high quality flannel, had he ever touched anything this soft?!).

It was certainly not Victor’s ( _Wizard Nikiforov_ , he corrected himself), he was taller and his shoulders were broader, those would not fit him comfortably for sleep.

…Was this for Yuuri, then?

Why?

(Of course, if he were to cast a _why_ at every weird thing that had happened to him in the last, say, 30 hours, “the sudden appearance of slippers and pyjamas his size” would be a strong contender for the “Is _This_ What You’re Wondering About? Really?” prize.)

Yuuri folded the pajamas almost reverently and left them where he’d found them. Fully dressed and wearing the (unbelievably comfortable) woolen slippers, he finally left the bedroom at the same time he heard the front door slam. He found Victor standing in the middle of the living room with a hand at his hips and another on his chin, examining the room around him. He was wearing simpler clothes now, just loose black pants and shirt, and his hair in a messy bun; he looked far more _real_ than he had the night before in his dainty pink coat. Far more approachable than in that jet black and red get-up from the Yulefest. If Yuuri didn’t know any better he’d say he looked much more like a Victor and not at all like a Wizard Nikiforov – specially with those fluffy slippers that were exactly like the ones Yuuri was wearing right now.

“Ah, _Yuuuu_ ri, good morning!” Victor greeted him with that heart-shaped smile Yuuri had noticed last night, coupled with what seemed to be genuine joy in seeing him. Why would he be happy to see Yuuri, though? In fact, why would he go through the trouble of keeping him around at all? It was certainly not Yuuri’s heart he was after, he was much older than the age group Nikiforov usually targeted. So what was it? What did he have to gain with that?

(And why were his eyes _so blue_?)

“Good morning,” he answered, his eyes hovering between his own feet and Victor’s. Yuuri really should’ve combed his hair better, instead of just raking his fingers through it. He’d be looking way more presentable now.

...Although that wouldn’t have made much difference. Victor would never look at him in _that_ way, Yuuri was 80. And even if he weren’t old he’d still be… just Yuuri.

Maccachin came for his morning greeting as well, crouching at Yuuri’s feet with some enthusiastic tail wagging, and that distracted him briefly. Interacting with Maccachin was easy and natural – much more than interacting with most people in Hasetsu in the last few years, actually.

With a glance, Yuuri saw the wizard watching them with what just might be a fond smile, and he immediately let go of the dog. He was now Wizard Nikiforov’s servant, his _cook_ , of all things. Not that he looked like he needed one (couldn’t wizards just conjure up food whenever?).

“Um, what would you like for breakfast?”

Victor’s eyes widened. “Breakfast? Oh no, never mind that!” He waved a dismissive hand, as if food were something that didn’t remotely interest him. “But if you’re not busy, could you help me a little? I’m making that new kitchen now!” he finished with a bright smile.

 _If you’re not busy_ , what would he be busy with? Victor had just waved him out of his only obligation at the castle!

Wait.

“You’re _making_ the new kitchen?”

Victor nodded cheerily while he sat down and put a sock on one foot. “Yes! But don’t worry, it won’t take too long.”

He started stretching, while Maccachin ran in circles around him. Not knowing how to contribute, Yuuri sat on the only good chair in the room and watched.

“And where’s Yurio?” he asked after a couple of minutes in silence.

Doubling down, Victor looked at him from between his own legs, and Yuuri made an effort to focus on the answer to his question. “I sent him to buy us some food. That should give us some time, I want to surprise him! His house has never had a kitchen before.”

“ _His_ house?”

“Yeah,” Victor replied, now on all fours, pushing against the ground to stretch his legs. Yuuri looked the other way so as not to combust right there. “The house is his. Well, his grandfather’s. When Mr. Plisetsky... you know, when I took Yurio as an apprentice, I moved in. Thought it’d be easier for him.”

So the old man in the black and white photo in the bedroom was Yurio’s grandpa. Had he been his only family? And Victor moving in instead of uprooting Yurio from his only house… that was surprisingly thoughtful of him.

Well, _surprisingly_ was not the exact word. It didn’t seem like the kind of thing the evil Wizard Nikiforov, Ice Mage and Devourer of Hearts would do, but it was certainly in accordance with what one might come to expect of Victor, the guy who loved his dog and, apparently, liked to leave unsuspected presents for people staying in his home.

“The only thing I did was take the house to the places I needed. You know, for work.” Victor went on as he stood up and started stretching his arms and shoulders. He said it as if it were common for people to just take their house to wherever they needed it to be. And what kind of “work” could he possibly have?

Also, a couple of things in that story didn’t quite add up; one of them was currently hanging from the ceiling.

“Am I to believe this crystal chandelier belonged to Yurio’s grandpa too?”

Victor broke his position to laugh. “No, _that_ was my personal touch! This is a replica of a chandelier I saw at the Winter Palace. Isn’t it beautiful?” He beamed at Yuuri.

“Ah, yes, very.” And extravagant, too, but he didn’t need to say that. (Winter Palace?) “And I take it that the bathroom was also your doing, then?”

“Ohhh, definitely. They didn’t actually _have_ a bathroom, just an outhouse. As much as I want to keep Yurio’s home intact, I can’t live without indoor plumbing, so I added the bathroom. And my own room over there, too; they only had the one bedroom before, they had to share it.”

One bedroom for two people, no bathroom and no kitchen. Now Yuuri felt even worse for making the boy sleep under the stairs.

“Well, and I changed the front door now, obviously.”

…changed the front doors?

Victor saw Yuuri’s furrowed brows and added, “The front door used to be in Muscovy, now it’s in your kingdom.”

Yuuri blinked, trying to adjust to the idea. Of course, Victor could take the house to wherever he wanted, so the front door would also have to be… moved, he guessed.

He tried to focus on something more palpable: “How do you even know I’m from Hasetsu?”

“Your accent!” Victor replied genially. “Every kingdom has their own. Now: ready to help?”

Yuuri sighed. “Yeah, sure.” He might as well make himself useful.

“Can you stay back for a while? I’ll need some room for this.” Yuuri went to stand by the front door and Victor took the good chair to him with a charming smile.

“While I work, Yuuri, I’d like you to visualize the kitchen in your head. You’ll decide what it’ll be like. Macca, stay here with him while dad works.”

Yuuri’s mouth fell open. “Me?!”

Victor ignored him and turned to the light on the mantelpiece. “Ready, Lilac?”

“Always,” a drowsy voice answered (Yuuri didn’t seem to be the only one who’d woken up late), and it was all Victor needed in order to start. He undid his hair bun in one single movement, making Yuuri's breath catch in his throat as he watched the smooth, glossy sheet of hair tumble down Victor's back like an impossible wave of silver.

Yuuri was still entranced when Victor started working, and was completely unprepared to find out what Victor meant by “work”.

He meant dance.

Yuuri was vaguely aware of Lilac shining blindingly to the left, but it was hard to look at anything else that wasn’t Victor dancing. There was no music playing, but the wizard was clearly listening to one in his mind as he slid across the old wooden floor, with effortless elegance and in control of every single movement of his body.

Breathtaking.

If someone told him Victor Nikiforov was a fairy, Yuuri would believe them before they even finished that sentence: it was as though he were made of air and music.

Hair whipping about as if loose in the wind, arms reaching high and one leg that easily followed suit, and then he sunk back onto his two feet, and a small part of Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder who had taught Victor how to dance. He was _great_. Even Mistress Okukawa wouldn’t have much to pick apart in his technique (and Yuuri knew better than anyone how demanding she was as a dance teacher).

But despite all the dancing Yuuri had done throughout the years, only a tiny fraction of him could focus on the dance unfolding before his eyes. Most of him was entranced by something else entirely – by Victor’s face as he lost himself in his movements, completely relaxed, content even, as if dancing was the only thing there had ever been; by Victor’s lithe body as it drew a thousand stories with just a few graceful lines.

By Victor.

Which had to stop right now.

He couldn’t allow himself to be so taken with him; as much as it hurt to admit, Victor was every bit as attractive as he had been on Yule Day, while Yuuri had become an old man. He still felt very much like a 23-year-old, but his body begged to differ now (not that being his real young self would help matters much anyway).

The dance came to a slow stop, and Victor brushed his silver hair off his eyes; on the wall in front of him there was now the outline of a third door.

Panting slightly, he brushed a mess of hair off his face and turned to Yuuri again with a smile.

“That’s when you come in.”

At his beckoning sign, Yuuri stood up and joined him near the door.

“Okay, so now you put your hand here,” Victor gently grabbed his hand and placed it within the outline of the new door, “close your eyes and picture it. What you want it to be like.”

Oh. Yuuri had been too busy watching Victor dance to think of the kitchen, and it was still hard to concentrate when his hand was covering Yuuri’s. How was he supposed to think of kitchens at a time like this?! He felt himself blush – awful timing – so he closed his eyes and made all the effort he could.

That moment probably didn’t last more than ten seconds, but it felt like a lifetime, with the ice of Victor’s hand clashing against the warmth of his own, and a flood of memories and images running through him like water through a sieve. Images he’d always known and images he would’ve never been able to conceive on his own. He felt, rather than saw, colorful lines becoming solid shapes gyrating ever faster, only to be squashed by invisible forces and become lines again, lines that branched out infinitely and laughed at his primitive ideas of space as having only three dimensions, and of time as a linear progression of cause to effect. And in the middle of all that, a familiar image that he grasped at like a lifesaver, as if it were the last straw of sanity and reality.

The cold of Victor’s hand vanished from his skin and Yuuri reopened his eyes; he dropped his hand from what used to be just an outline and now was a solid wooden door just like the other two next to it. Maccachin came to sniff at it.

From behind them, a huge yawn.

“I’m _exhausted_. I’m going back to sleep, Vitya.”

“Yes, get some rest. Thank you, Lilac.”

“You’re welcome,” it yawned again. When Yuuri looked, the light was weaker than ever, almost a dull white.

Victor also looked weary, but before Yuuri could comment on it, his hand was on Yuuri’s forehead.

“Are you feeling well?” He asked, and Yuuri’s eyes went wide.

“Me? Yes, why?”

“Your hand is _so_ hot, do you have a fever? Did you sleep well last night? Did you not have covers?”

Victor was _worried_ about his health. Great. He couldn’t content himself with being unfairly handsome, he had to be endearing as well.

With the utmost delicacy, Yuuri took Victor’s hand of his forehead and smiled a bit. “Don’t worry, I don’t have a fever. My hands are like that all the time.”

“Are you sure? This place can get really cold. The ice is not… just outside, you know,” Victor added with a bitter smile that had Yuuri puzzled, before it dissolved into a more genuine one. “So! Let’s see what your imagination conjured up!”

When he opened the door, the dog ran in excitedly and Yuuri held his breath: he was looking at the kitchen in Yu-topia.

Light, spacious, all in white tiles and wooden cupboards, with a pine table in the middle. Some of the cabinets had glass doors, showing their empty shelves (there were more cupboards and shelves than things to store). On the far wall, a huge wood oven and on the table, a beautiful glass bowl with some fruit. Everything just the way it was back home, and it tugged at Yuuri’s heart.

Victor walked around in awe. “Wow! Amazing! No wonder I’m so tired, you’ve got quite the imagination! Much better than anything I could’ve come up with!”

“Um, thanks, but… how did you… _fit_ this kitchen here?”

“It’s just a pocket dimension!” He smiled brightly at Yuuri, as if that answered all the questions. To him, it probably did.

Yuuri didn't answer; instead, he was trying to get his eyes off Victor's hair, messy and slightly damp at the roots from the dancing. What god should he pray to so as to get rid of that desperate itch to just  _weave_ his hands through that hair, to slowly comb it with his fingers until it was free of knots again?

“Well, Yurio should be back any minute now, I hope he likes it! I can’t wait though, gotta go into town. I have a good feeling about today!” With that, Victor locked himself in the bathroom, and in a few minutes there was the sound of running water.

Without a clue as to what to do next, Yuuri went into automatic pilot, going through every cupboard in the kitchen to know what was there – but he soon found out that everything was in the exact same place as it was in Yu-topia. He could navigate that kitchen with his eyes closed.

He turned around when he heard scratching: Maccachin was pawing at a door in the corner, a door so white it’d blended in with the tiles at first (and it didn’t help that Yuuri’s vision was blurrier than it used to be, even with glasses on).

That door didn’t exist in the original kitchen in Yu-topia, and Yuuri approached it gingerly – why had Victor added it? It had not been in Yuuri’s mental image of the kitchen and he should probably stay away from it. Who knew what kind of sorcery lay behind it?!

As if his memory was trying to counter-argue, it brought back the image of Victor dancing. That dance in the living room couldn’t possibly create anything dark, could it?

“Besides,” he said to Maccachin, “you’d growl if there was anything wrong behind the door, right?”

Maccachin barked and Yuuri took that as a yes. Slowly, he turned the knob and opened the door, just a fraction for him to peek through, and his eyes widened: he didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it surely hadn’t been that. 

It was a sunny backyard patio.

He stepped out, incredulous: it was an open, wide circular area of white and grey stones, surrounded by a low stone wall with small pink flowers cascading from it. With the absolute silence that reigned outside, broken only by the trickling sound of a small water fountain in a recess in the wall, it was the most peaceful place Yuuri had seen in ages. It was pretty, tranquil and didn’t match the rest of the house, so it was probably another Victor addition. Maccachin ran around sniffing at the flowers, drinking from the water and generally basking in the sunlight. Maybe that place was just for Maccachin to have fun?

He could see the empty fields around the castle from there, as well as the road he’d taken the day before and the rooftops of the capital in the distance; it was a little past noon, the city would be bustling with activity. His family was probably serving lunch to their guests at Yu-topia, and Phichit was having his own lunch break in the back of the pastry shop; Mistress Okukawa would still be sleeping, and the Nishigoris would be at the store while young Kenjirou made the deliveries to the Leroy Palace. Leo would be playing his lute in the central square, right next to the flower shop, so that Guang Hong could both see to the flowers and listen to him, and Seung-Gil would be quietly reading a book and eating a sandwich in front of the old book shop.

Yuuri knew that town and its habits like the back of his hand (or better, now that his hand had become something wrinkled and unfamiliar). Everything was always the same, even if he wasn’t there anymore. The town didn’t really need him, did it? It never had. They’d counted on him staying for 18 years, with no idea of what to do with him, where to fit him, after that. He confused them. They understood Leo, who was waiting for Guang Hong to turn 18 so they could leave together, but what was Yuuri Katsuki waiting for?, they’d whisper.

All he’d wanted was to grow old in Hasetsu, but growing old was exactly what had made him leave.

He could at least relish the lack of expectations now. He was 80-something (or so he estimated), way past the age when one had to Accomplish Things. He didn’t have to Go Places, Meet New People and Find Riches and True Love. What would he have done in a new place? What New People would welcome him, _him_ , stuttering, insecure, talentless Yuuri? Who would even look at him twice? At 80, though, he didn’t have to worry about failing, the time for failures was long gone.

He turned around and went back into the kitchen, calling Macca before closing the door again. He could still hear some faint splashing noises coming from the bathroom, as well as quiet, pleasant singing. Half an hour had gone by and Victor was still in the bath.

_He sure takes his time. But what do I do now?_

The question answered itself right away: one look around the living room was all he needed to convince himself to do a general clean-up; clearly the last person to have ever done any sort of cleaning there had been the late Mr. Plisetsky. The gods only knew how long ago that had been, although the massive cobwebs lurking in some corners of the ceiling might help him venture a guess. He looked around until he found a broom, a mop and a duster carelessly thrown into a bucket under the stairs – and he also discovered another door there. It probably led to the side of the road out of Hasetsu.

The next hour was spent sweeping, wiping, scrubbing and mopping; by the time most of the room was sparkling clean, Victor came out of the bathroom with hair perfectly brushed, a towel around his waist and nothing else, and not staring at that was the single hardest thing Yuuri had ever done.

He focused extra hard on wiping the mantelpiece while Victor walked by and went upstairs, quietly humming something to himself and calling his dog.

When the door to Victor’s bedroom closed, Yuuri heard a light chuckle from the lantern.

“Why so red, Yuuri?”

“Nothing! Nothing, I, I’m just… just tired from all the cleaning.”

“Right…”

How could _light_ convey so much sarcasm in one word?!

Victor came down a few minutes later with Maccachin trotting after him. The wizard was wearing the same black coat of the Yulefest, looking just as appealing as he had on that day. His hair was tied on an elegant ponytail, and a few flyaways kept on falling on his face no matter how much he brushed them aside.

Well, there it was. _That_ was what you got when you left home on a Journey: you were punished. Fate transformed you into an old man and then sent you gorgeous strangers that insisted on being gorgeous and completely out of your league, making them parade under your nose wearing nothing but towels or beautiful clothes.

Yuuri should’ve just stayed home.

“Lilac, Yuuri, I’m going to town,” announced Victor, distractedly putting on his ruby earring and beaming at both of them, and Yuuri made a conscious effort to _not._ _stare_. That heart-shaped smile was much more than he knew how to handle. Was this what it was going to be like every day?

Lilac cleared its throat, even though it had no throat to clear:

“Do you even have a plan, Vitya? Or are you just going to wander aimlessly around the capital again?”

“Well… I haven’t visited _every_ store and business in town yet, so! That can be my plan!”

“Visiting every store and business in town,” the light echoed flatly. “Great plan.”

“If you think I can’t hear the sarcasm in your tone, you’re very much mistaken, and it wounds me,” Victor replied coolly, not looking wounded at all and still fumbling with his earring. “Besides, I don’t hear you coming up with a better plan.”

“Don’t you think that visiting every single business in town is going to take some time?”

Victor shook his head, tutting at the light.

“My dear Lilac, do you know who are the two most powerful warriors? Patience and time!”

Lilac didn’t answer that, but Yuuri caught it rolling its eyes, and Victor either didn’t see it or chose to ignore it.

“Well, I’m off! Yuuri, if you need anything, ask Lilac or Yurio, okay? I don’t know how lon– oh!”

The jewel hanging loosely from his right ear fell and rolled on the floor, stopping at Yuuri’s feet. He bent over with some difficulty and picked it up, examining it to see if it had been damaged in any way; not a single scratch, though, it was probably a real ruby. It was perfectly cut in the shape of a teardrop, and a gemstone like that would cost more than half of Yu-topia. Nevertheless, Yuuri couldn’t help feeling sorry for it: it was certain to be completely outshone by Victor when he wore it.

Victor walked over to him with a smile and a stretched hand.

“Um…” Yuuri hesitated, and Victor let his hand fall, waiting for his question. “Are you… are you going to just leave me here?”

How could Victor leave a complete stranger all alone in his home? Sure, there didn’t seem to be much to rob around the place, but even so. They’d only met yesterday; he might’ve taken Yuuri in out of pity, but leaving him in charge of the house was something else entirely.

Victor looked surprised for a split second and then his expression changed into concern, his hand flying to his chest.

“Yuuri, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think of that, I’m so stupid! No, of course I’m not leaving you here!”

He sighed, relieved. “Good. That would’ve been too negligent of you.”

“Yes, of course!” Victor agreed anxiously. “But don’t worry, I’ll stay here until Yurio comes back, how does that sound? Then you won’t feel lonely!”

Yuuri’s mind screeched to a halt.

“Lonely?”

“I mean… Yurio might not be the liveliest company, I know, but he’s a nice kid. And there’s Lilac, too, I’m sure you’ll find Lilac can be great company. I’m sorry I’m not able to stay here all day, but I really have to –”

“Do you…” Yuuri interrupted him, unsure if he should be annoyed or amused, “do you think I’m asking you to _keep me company_?”

Victor looked at him, glanced at Lilac, and then back at Yuuri. “…Aren’t you?”

Yuuri placed a hand on his face. He was worried Yuuri might feel lonely, how ridiculous could that man be? “No, I just meant… you shouldn’t leave me here all alone in your house because _you don’t know me_. I could be a criminal!”

“A criminal?” There was a barely concealed laugh in Victor’s voice, but when Yuuri looked again, he still kept a straight enough face.

“Yeah, like… I don’t know, a thief?”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “I see. And what would you steal?”

“I could be a killer!”

“And I can only imagine how successful you’d be in trying to kill that lavender ball of light over there.”

That earned him a dry “Thanks, Vitya” from Lilac.

“I just… wouldn’t leave a stranger in my house, that’s all,” Yuuri murmured, looking down at the ruby earring still in his hand. When he heard a soft chuckle, he looked up again: the wizard was looking at him with an openly fond smile, and gently put his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders.

“I trust you,” he said simply.

He didn’t know if it was the tenderness with which Victor said it, or the closeness, or the fact that Victor _smelled_ perfect (probably all of them combined), but the fact was that he could feel the flush creeping up in his neck and face. To divert Victor’s attention from him, he awkwardly returned him the earring – flushing even more when their hands brushed against each other.

Thankfully, Victor didn’t seem to notice it, smiling and trying to put on the earring again.

“Thank you, Yuuri. Anyway, I’ll – _ouch_!” He shook his hand and stared at the jewel, puzzled.

“What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, it’s just… _hot_ ,” he mumbled. He shrugged, putting the earring in his pocket, and looked at Yuuri again. He tilted his head, considering him in silence for a few seconds, and Yuuri shifted on his feet, uncomfortable under his scrutiny; Victor turned to Lilac:

“Let’s do something about it when I get back.”

“Thought you’d never ask,” the light retorted, and Victor smiled.

Do something about what?

“Now I really have to go. See you later, have fun!” And with that, Victor and Maccachin were out the door and gone.

Yuuri stood in the middle of the room as if under a spell (maybe it _was_ one, how would he know?). It should’ve been a relief to not have Victor standing so close to him anymore, but somehow, it was the very opposite of that. He stared at the door, half-hoping Victor would come back saying he’d forgotten something or changed his mind, even. When nothing of the sort happened – as it wouldn’t, he should know better – he asked Lilac, “Is he always like this?”

“That depends. Like what?” Lilac answered, its voice carefully devoid of any intonation.

“Trusting? How can he trust someone he just met?!”

The light snickered. “He has his reasons.”

“Which are?”

“Well… you can see me. You talk to me.”

Yuuri stared. What did that have to do with anything?

Lilac guessed the unspoken question and elaborated further: “Most people don’t realize I’m alive, you know. All they see is a pretty light. Even Yurochka didn’t see me at first, it took him a whole month to notice me properly.”

Yuuri was slightly taken aback. “How come?” It was so _obvious_ the light was alive. How didn’t everyone see it right away?

The light hummed but didn’t answer him immediately. Yuuri saw its eyes examining him from head to toe, pensively. Eventually, it seemed to come to a decision. “It takes someone special.”

That… was a very vague answer. But if Lilac wanted to say more than that it would have, so Yuuri had to be satisfied with that.

“Also,” it continued cheerfully, “Maccachin likes you, and he’s Victor’s weak spot!”

Yuuri smiled at that, and was about to answer when the door was thrown open a little too violently and Yurio walked in, his arms full of grocery bags.

“A little help?” he huffed, closing the door with his foot.

Yuuri hurried to relieve him of some of the bags, setting them on the table. There was bread, cheese, different kinds of meat, eggs, vegetables, flour, spices, grains and many other things for several different types of meals. Yuuri’s attention was caught by a couple of delicately wrapped parcels. His heart sunk at the sight. He’d recognize that paper and that logo anywhere, anytime: it was from Terra Incognita, the Chulanonts’ pastry shop.

“You… bought pastries?”

“Yeah, well, I was hungry, and the shop looked good. Turns out they have some good stuff there.” There was a pause in which Yurio carefully avoided Yuuri’s gaze. “You can have some, if you want. It’s good.”

“Oh thank you, Yurio, that’s very –”

“Yeah yeah, just eat it.”

Yuuri smiled and unwrapped one parcel: roti, Phichit’s favorite. It was a banana-filled pastry that he always recommended to new clients. No doubt he’d done the same to Yurio – and if he knew Phichit, he’d overwhelmed the boy with bright smiles and sweet talk until he’d agreed to try it. Yuuri took a bite, reveling in the familiar flavors; nothing tasted more like home than his mother’s food and the Chulanonts’ pastries.

“ _Wasat_?” Yurio mumbled with a mouth full of cake. When Yuuri frowned, he pointed at the new door next to the bathroom.

“That,” Yuuri smiled at him, “is the new kitchen.”

Yurio’s mouth hung open, still with half-chewed cake inside, and Yuuri raised his eyebrows.

“Close your mouth,” he told him, in the best imitation of his grandpa. Surprisingly, Yurio complied, chewing the rest of his cake with enormous eyes.

“A _kitchen_!” he exclaimed when he was finally done eating. He stood up and dashed into the new room; Yuuri followed him slowly, half because he didn’t have the legs or the energy to keep up with a 15-year-old, half because it was a little heartbreaking to see someone so excited over something so simple, something that Yuuri had taken for granted every single day of his life.

He stopped at the door and watched as the boy looked at everything enthusiastically and opened every single cabinet, even though there was nothing inside other than the old utensils that had lived under the table until this morning. When he noticed he was being observed, Yurio slowed down a little and did his best to emulate his usual indifference.

“This is… okay, I guess,” he grumbled, giving a half-hearted shrug. Then his eyes laid on the door in the corner: “What’s that?”

He opened it eagerly, but closed it almost immediately with a disappointed look. “Oh, it’s just the patio.”

“You already had it?” Yuuri asked, curious. He hadn’t seen it before.

“Yeah, the door used to be in the bathroom. Victor says he needs it ‘for practice’. Whatever that means,” he added grumpily. He looked at Yuuri and glanced away, walking past him and into the living room.

“I have a spell to practice. The food is there, so you can do whatever you want with it.”

Without another word, he sat on the stool and unrolled a scroll Victor had left for him. _The food is there, so you can do whatever you want_ was clearly code for “lunch, please”; since they were both hungry, Yuuri might as well start cooking, it _was_ his job there after all. He grabbed the groceries and headed for the kitchen, throwing Yurio a “good luck” and a “hope it’s the right spell this time!” on his way out – and getting a sullen “yeah, so do I” in return.

When lunch was ready Yurio silently helped him by setting the table and getting water from the fountain in the patio. Yuuri served them a very decent imitation of his mother’s beef bowl; the boy eyed it suspiciously, but a couple of bites later he was eating it like he’d never seen food in his life up until now. He’d eaten yesterday’s sandwich with the same voracity, so it might not mean much – but it could also be a testament to Yuuri’s cooking skills. There was no way to tell.

Halfway through the meal there was a knock on the door, and Yuuri looked up: who would be knocking on the Wizard Nikiforov’s castle door? First, he was evil (or so the rumors would have people believe) and second, the castle was in the middle of nowhere in the northern border, who would come all this way (other than himself)?

But to his surprise, Yurio went towards the door under the stairs.

He followed the boy before he could even think about it, and was right behind Yurio when he opened it – and a world of noise flooded the room.

The person who’d knocked was a woman in her 40’s in a humble jumper dress and hair completely covered by some sort of shawl; behind her, a whole city hustled and bustled outside – horses, carts, carriages and people yelling, laughing, cursing, selling. It was a big city doing what it knew best: living in relatively organized chaos.

And it was definitely not Hasetsu.

“Good afternoon, young sir,” the woman greeted nervously, wringing her hands. Upon spotting Yuuri behind the boy she nodded, mumbling a “sir” to him as well. “Is the… is the Warlock Romanoff in?”

Yurio shook his head. “He’s out at the moment. Can I help?”

 _Romanoff_?

“I... I asked for a location spell a few days ago. For my son, you see.”

“Just a second, ma’am.”

Yurio went back into the living room, going through a few drawers under the table, and Yuuri seized the opportunity to take a few steps out the door and look around.

Their house was at the top of a broad, slightly steep street crowded with people, street vendors and houses of bright colors on each side; at the bottom of the slope, a long stone bridge crossed a large river and led to a colossal, fortified red palace, the domes of which were funnily shaped. Like… onions.

(Or maybe his head was still on the food he’d just prepared.)

When he turned his head he noticed the woman watching him; at being caught staring she went still, not even breathing, her eyes large with… fear? But why would she fear Yuuri? He smiled at her and gave her a friendly nod, which seemed to calm her down a bit – enough for her to actually ask:

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Are you…” her voice dropped to an almost whisper, “are you a warlock too?”

“Me?” He widened his eyes. “Gods, no! I’m…” What was he? “I’m just a servant of the house, ma’am,” he decided. It was pretty accurate, wasn’t it?

“Oh. And…” she licked her lips, but the fact that he was a ‘normal person’ seemed to give her courage to go on. “Aren’t you afraid of them, sir?”

The answer was at the tip of his tongue: _no, not at all_ , but he didn’t say it. It was very clear to him that ‘evil’ had no place on the list of everything that Victor was, but what if he wanted the world to think he was wicked? He couldn’t think of a logical reason for that, but people who worked with magic were a different sort of people, and there was no understanding their ways.

“Well…” he replied slowly, “I am, yes. I mean, they’re _warlocks_ ,” he added in a dramatically hushed voice, and the woman nodded vigorously. “But they pay me well!” He concluded, beaming at her, and she seemed at a loss for words.

Yurio reappeared with a brown paper package tied up in a string, checking the name written on it. “Olga Dmitrievna?”

She nodded, and he gave her the parcel. “Here is your location spell. Remember, you have to add something that belonged to the person you wish to track.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She grabbed the parcel but made no move to go. “About the payment, sir…”

Yurio went stiff at that. “Yes?”

“Is it true that he only wants it if it’s gold?”

“Yes. Do you have gold?”

“No…”

“Then he doesn’t want your payment. Have a nice day, ma’am,” and with that, he unceremoniously closed the door, going back to his unfinished lunch.

Horrified, Yuuri opened the door again, to find the woman still petrified and gaping at the door.

“Sorry ma’am, he’s just… very hungry,” he apologized. “Hope you have a nice day and come back again! Best of luck with your location spell!” He smiled again, which seemed to reassure her, and she slowly walked away after thanking him.

Yuuri went back inside. “Yurio, don’t close the door on people’s faces, it’s rude.”

“She got what she came here for!” He protested. “I’m learning to be a wizard, not a master of ceremonies!”

Yuuri sighed. Teenagers. He sat at the table again, but now he was more curious than hungry.

“What place is that?”

“ _Mushovy_ ” the boy tried to answer while eating again. Yuuri raised a brow and waited for the boy to chew properly.

“Muscovy,” he clarified.

“Muscovy?!” How could that be possible, Hasetsu was right outside the front door, and Muscovy was one of the northernmost kingdoms! It took a couple of _weeks_ for one to go from Hasetsu to Muscovy in a carriage!

“Yeah, we lived there, but when the year began Victor decided to live in Hasetsu too, to find some guy he’s been moping about since Yuletide. It’s annoying.”

Oh right. The guy Victor had called “the other half of the duet” the night before. Yuuri felt an unpleasant pang in his heart. Side effect of his advanced age, most likely.

Another knock on the door and Yurio moaned, exasperated. “Can’t even have lunch…”

He stood up and went to the front door this time, with Yuuri on his heels once again. He looked him up and down.

“Gods, you’re nosy,” he complained before opening the door.

They found a man in official clothes waiting outside, and Yuuri recognized the Leroy arms on the carriage behind him.

“Good afternoon, young sir. I have a message from the palace for the Wizard Nikiforov.”

“He’s not in, but you can leave the message with me.”

The man looked him over in doubt, clearly not deeming Yurio reliable enough – then his eyes fell on Yuuri, and he talked to him instead.

“Sir, the king requests these spells be ready within a fortnight,” he said, presenting him with an envelope. Yuuri took it, ignoring Yurio going purple with anger next to him.

“We shall pass the request on to him, thank you.”

The messenger bowed to him, gave Yurio what he thought was a friendly smile, and retreated to his carriage.

Yurio slammed the door. “What in all the hells?! I’m the one who represents Victor when he’s not here!”

“Yurochka, he’d probably much rather talk to an adult,” Lilac interjected calmly.

“What a jerk,” he muttered, stomping back to the table. “Just like the king.”

“King JJ?” Yuuri asked, surprised.

“Yeah, he’s an asshole!”

“How do you know?”

Yurio huffed. “Victor took me to the palace once, JJ is always asking him for spells and charms and seven-league boots, and he, like, he does this weird thing with his hands?” Yurio dropped his fork to try and imitate the gesture, failing spectacularly, but Yuuri knew what he was talking about. He’d seen the king do it in a few special occasions in which he’d addressed the kingdom, and he’d always finished his speeches with his both hands doing Js. But then again, that king Jean-Jacques was a tad ridiculous was news to no one.

“And,” Yurio rambled on, unstoppable, “he has this really loud laugh and he laughs _all the time_? Even when no one says anything funny? _And_ he always tells Victor that he could do the spells himself if he weren’t so busy, _what_?”

Yuuri snorted. “I see. Well, I’ll, uh, I’ll leave the envelope on the mantelpiece.”

Yurio mumbled something about “stupid JJ” and kept on eating.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the afternoon went by in relative domestic peace, with Yurio working on the spell and Yuuri trying to find ways to make himself useful – like doing the dishes and scrubbing the entire patio clean. He thought of cleaning Victor’s bedroom, but wasn’t sure if the intrusion would be welcome.

He was still trying to make up his mind when Lilac suddenly whispered: “There’s something wrong.”

They turned their heads to look at it: the light flitted, ranging from deep purple to almost white and then back to purple, on and off, flickering and wobbly like the flame of a candle.

Yurio abandoned his spell and hurried to its side. “Lilac, what’s wrong?”

“Victor.” It answered in a strained voice, as if it were making an enormous physical effort.

The front door swung open and Victor stumbled inside, disheveled and deadly pale, dropping to his knees and gasping for air the minute the door was closed. By his side, Maccachin whined and licked his face in an attempt to help.

Yuuri got to him first, kneeling by him despite the protest from his knees. Victor sat back on the floor, looking stunned.

“Victor, are you okay?” Yurio’s voice came out scared from somewhere in the room, sounding much smaller than he usually was. Yuuri examined Victor without a word: his face was pale and a bit dirty, but intact; his hair was lose about his shoulders in a tangle, his coat was torn in a couple of places, but there were no injuries as far as he could tell.

“Take off the coat,” he ordered quietly.

Victor looked at him still in a daze. “What?”

“Take off the coat,” he repeated patiently. With the coat off he would be able to examine him better. Yurio had joined them on the floor.

“Just take the damn thing off,” he gritted between his teeth, already pushing the coat off Victor’s back, much more gently than his voice would’ve implied.

Victor meekly complied and Yuuri patted him all over, trying to find blood or any spot that might feel sensitive, while Yurio took off Victor’s boots.

Yuuri was finally satisfied after a few minutes: the wizard was all in one piece, even if still shaken.

“Help him up, Yurio.”

A bit more like himself, Victor shook his head. “No, that’s okay, I’m fine,” and he got up, a bit unsteady but on his own.

Yuuri hesitated, still kneeling on the floor. “Then… someone help _me_ up, please.”

Victor blinked, and then huffed a small, shaky laugh. “Sorry, Yuuri, of course!” He offered him his arm, and Yuuri used it as support, slowly getting to his feet again.

“Victor, what the hell happened?!” Yurio demanded, also more like himself now that the first scare was over. The wizard sighed.

“Lilia found me.”

“Baranovskaya?!”

Victor shrugged. “Do you know any other?”

Lilac finally chimed in, in a tired voice. “I told you not to go to town with her around.”

“Yes, but it’s not like I have a choice.”

“Isn’t it?”

“ _Is_ it?” Victor snapped. “It’s been 20 years, Lilac, I _have_ to find him.”

The light didn’t answer, and the silence in the room stretched on as Victor disappeared into the kitchen, showing up moments later with a glass of water; he practically sank on the three-legged chair and downed the water in one single gulp. The other two stood around awkwardly watching him, until Yurio finally asked:

“You fought Baranovskaya, then?”

“No. I ran.”

“You what?!”

“I’m not going to fight Lilia,” Victor replied tiredly, “for many reasons. And we were in the middle of town, what was I supposed to do?”

“If you don’t fight her she’ll keep coming after you!”

“And if I _had_ fought her it would’ve been chaos there. Just deflecting her spells caused damage enough already.”

“Damage?” Yuuri had been listening in silence so far, aware he knew too little about both Victor and Madame Baranovskaya – or magic in general – to have an opinion, but Hasetsu was something else.

Victor’s face seemed to soften when he turned to Yuuri. “I’m sorry, Yuuri. Don’t worry, everyone’s fine. It was just… well, one of her attacks kind of… smashed one of the walls of a flower shop in the central square.”

Yuuri felt his heart sink.

The flower shop.

 _Guang Hong_.

“Are you _sure_ everyone’s okay? Guang Hong was there! His sister too, and Leo and –”

“Yuuri. Calm down. Yes, everyone’s okay, I made sure of that. No one got hurt.”

Something on Yuuri’s face must’ve shown that was not enough to lessen his fears, so Victor offered: “If you want, I can take you to town tomorrow, so you can see everyone.”

“No! No, I… no, it’s fine. I believe you,” he answered, a bit too quickly if he thought about it.

Victor turned to his apprentice, not snappish like before, but just as serious. “Do you get it, Yurio? That’s a _town_ , with real people in it. They have names, lives, they’re not just collateral damage. Remember that if you want to become a wizard.”

Yurio nodded, subdued and throwing a glance at Yuuri. He shifted on his feet a little.

“So… what now?”

“Nothing. I’m going to stay home for the rest of the day and you’re going to keep working on that spell.” He stared at the empty glass in his hand, seemed to consider something in his head, shrugged and gave it a light shake. He took a long gulp of the beer that was suddenly in the glass before speaking again: “And tomorrow, I’m going back.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw the boy frown and open his mouth – and then close it. Whatever Victor’s reasons were, they were obviously important enough for him to risk running into the witch again.

“You… Madame Baranovskaya… are you two…” Yuuri trailed off, unsure of how to frame his question. _Are you enemies?_ seemed too dramatic, and _she doesn’t like you?_ , an understatement, but Victor got his meaning.

“It’s… complicated,” he murmured. At first it didn’t seem like he was going to offer more than that for an answer, but he also didn’t seem annoyed; he glanced at Yuuri, and found him standing in quiet attention. He took another gulp of beer. “We’ve known each other for a long time. But now she… she wants something from me that I can’t give her. And that’s that.”

That seemed to be all Victor was willing to share, and Yuuri left it at that. Victor was exhausted, but more than that, Yuuri just wanted to wipe that slightly pained expression from his face. That creased forehead and that bitter curve of the mouth should never go anywhere near Victor.

In the silence that followed, while Victor started combing his own hair with his fingers to try and untangle it a little, Yuuri walked to the door and got the coat that Yurio had carelessly thrown aside.

“Well, I hope she doesn’t want _this_ coat, it’s ruined now.”

Victor blinked in surprised for a moment too long, making Yuuri wonder if it was maybe too soon for a joke – and then a laugh came bubbling out of him, light, sunny and _Victor_ again, dispelling the last vestiges of tension in the room. Lilac chuckled and Yurio shrugged with a smirk, going back to the ingredients of his spell.

Yuuri smiled, giving the coat back to Victor. “It’s a shame, though, it’s beautiful.” He was biased, of course – the image of Victor wearing it during the Yulefest was seared into his brain at this point. He hadn’t been able to think about much else between Yule Day and the fateful night Madame Baranovskaya had walked through the doors of Yu-topia.

“You like it?” Victor asked, eyes still glittering with amusement.

“I do. Well, I did.”

“You still can,” he said, taking the coat and shaking it like one would shake a bed sheet, and then giving it back to Yuuri.

The gash in one of the long trailing sleeves was gone, and the hem was no longer in tatters. The crystals that adorned the left side were all there again.

The coat was whole and flawless like before.

He’d seen Victor do magic already – he’d just seen him fill his empty glass with beer, and creating an entire kitchen _out of thin air_ in the morning – and it still didn’t matter. It probably never would. You didn't get used to magic in a couple of days after 23 humdrum years of life.

While Yuuri gaped at the magically renewed coat, Victor winked. “And you can wear it whenever you feel like it.”

That had a sobering effect on Yuuri’s wonder, and he let out a dry laugh. “As if I would ever be able to wear it.”

Victor was trying to be nice, but the offer was just cruel. As if someone as dull as Yuuri Katsuki could wear something like that, a coat that exuded beauty and allure, that is, things that would never be found in the same room as Yuuri.

Victor cocked his head with a confused look. “Why ever not?”

“It doesn’t suit me, I’m not –” he stopped, catching himself in time. Victor was just making conversation, not inviting him to open up about his deepest insecurities.

The wizard was still waiting for him to continue, looking at him with so much attention that Yuuri felt like he could read his every thought. Maybe he could, who knew? Trying to buy time, he carefully folded the coat and placed it on the table before he found his new answer:

“I’m too old. Beautiful clothes are for young people.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “Right. You’re old. Guess I forgot.”

He _forgot?_ His old age should be rather obvious!

“What don’t you forget,” Yurio mumbled from his seat at the other end of the table. But the remark only got a heart-shaped smile and a “I know, right?” out of Victor and a snort from Lilac.

“Oh, by the way,” Yuuri finally remembered, “there was a royal envoy this afternoon, apparently the king wants you to make some spells?”

“Yeah, why don’t they just use their precious Royal Wizard?” Yurio complained.

“Chris must be busy with something else, I guess. What spells do they want this time?”

Yuuri walked over to the fireplace to retrieve the envelope he’d left on the mantelpiece – but as soon as he touched it he felt a cold shiver down his spine and a slap on his back that sent him a step forward.

What the…?!

Startled, he turned around and found Victor standing right behind him with a baffled look. They stared mutely at each other, Victor looking as perplexed as Yuuri felt.

What had just happened?!

“Did you just... _slap_ him?!” Yurio asked from his stool, incredulous, putting into words what Yuuri was too bewildered to say.

Victor blinked. “I, uh… there was… a bug. On your back. There was a bug on your back,” he replied, still looking confused. He shook his head and stared at Yuuri even more keenly.

“Oh.” That was the least articulate he’d seen Victor be, but maybe he was just feeling awkward for having slapped an old man. “Um… did you get it?”

“Get what?” Victor asked, as if he were only half-paying attention to what Yuuri was saying.

“The bug?”

“Oh. _Oh_. No, no, I… it, it flew away. Yeah,” he gave him an apologetic smile. “But don’t worry, I’ll try again later,” he added, glancing at Lilac with a furrowed brown.

“Uh, okay? Anyway, here’s the list of spells,” Yuuri said, handing him the envelope the royal emissary had left.

“Hmm, let me see what he wants this time…”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuuri hadn’t found much to do for the rest of the day; the house was already spotless, and Victor and Yurio had started working on the spells king JJ had ordered – nothing too difficult, according to Victor, just in large quantities, which demanded four hands at it – so he went to the kitchen and started slowly putting together everything he would need to make dinner. Maccachin was more than happy to keep him company (probably less for Yuuri personally and more for the smells and the possibility of food, but still).

When he was chopping vegetables, Victor stuck his head in the kitchen.

“Need any help?”

“No, thanks, I’m good. This is easy,” he said with a smile; to his surprise, Victor pouted. “What’s wrong?”

“Yurio is too mean, so I thought I’d spend some time with someone who doesn’t call me ‘old man’ and ‘baldy’ all the time,” he sighed, before disappearing again.

It wasn’t long till he heard Victor rambling in the living room, with only minor interjections from Lilac and an occasional annoyed comment from the apprentice.

“…and I’ve never _seen_ anyone dance like that! It was like his body was _creating_ music! He had... he had so much life! He _was_ life! And his laugh is infectious, and his hair – _gods_ , his hair.” The next words were muffled, as if Victor had his face buried in his hands. All Yuuri got from his babbling was “…touch his hair so bad.”

“Could you be any creepier?!” Yurio snarled.

“And he has the most amazing eyes I’ll ever see,” Victor went on dreamily. Ignoring half the things his apprentice said was evidently part of his routine, and Yuuri wasn’t sure which one of them was more to blame for that.

The minute he entered the room with the food, the instruments Yurio had been holding clattered loudly on the table as he hastily dropped them and hurried to set the table. It was more than clear at this point that nothing moved Yurio to action faster than food, and he had to keep that in mind for future reference.

“Maybe Yuuri can help you, Vitya?” Lilac suggested softly, and Victor gasped.

“Of course! Why didn’t I think of that before?!”

“Because you haven’t been thinking lately?” Yurio theorized drily, but Victor was too busy grabbing Yuuri’s hands to pay him any mind.

“Maybe you know him!” He said excitedly, not unlike Maccachin when Yuuri had thrown a treat or two his way – the major difference here being that Victor was holding Yuuri’s hands in his, staring at him from way too up close, and personal space was only a distant memory. And that Macca, as cute as he was (and that was a whole lot), didn’t make Yuuri feel like there was more to chart in his eyes than in all the Five Great Seas, and that he would gladly spend hours just staring at them.

And Macca certainly couldn’t talk while Yuuri was busy thinking about his eyes.

“Uh, sorry? What did you say?”

“You can help me find him!”

“Find who?!”

“Victor’s Mystery Yulefest Man,” Lilac clarified, amusedly. “If he’s from Hasetsu, maybe you know him?”

“Oh.” Victor wanted his help in trying to find the man he’d fallen for during the Yulefest, after he’d exchanged a couple of words with Yuuri and understandably lost all interest in him. There was nothing he wanted to do less. “Sure. What’s his name?”

“I don’t knooow!...” Victor moaned.

Yuuri choked. “You didn’t ask?!”

“Yuu _riiii_ , I had to focus extra hard on not _drowning_ in his eyes, how could I ask for his name?!”

“ _With your mouth_ ,” Yurio hissed at him and frankly, he was not wrong this time.

No wonder he couldn’t find Mystery Yulefest Man then, he didn’t even have a name to work with. Hasetsu might not be the largest kingdom ever, but it was still big enough for one to get lost in.

“Okay, then, um… what does he look like?”

“ _Beautiful_.”

“ _Victor, I swear to all the gods above and below –_ ”

“Yurio, why don’t you get us some water?” Yuuri interrupted him cheerfully.

When the boy was out of the living room, Yuuri turned back to the wizard, using all the patience he could muster and giving his hands a light, sympathetic squeeze.

“Victor, I’m going to need something a bit more specific than that to go on.”

Victor’s eyes flew wide, and his lips slowly curved into a warm smile.

“You said my name.”

“What?”

“You finally said my name.”

There it was. The blush that Yuuri had successfully fought so far came back with a vengeance.

“Well, I, uh… I can’t really call you ‘mister Nikiforov’, it’s … weird.” Victor laughed at that, and Yuuri looked at the floor, as if he could make it swallow him whole just by staring at it. If Victor would at least let go of his hands it would be easier, but he insisted on that point of contact. Yuuri forged ahead as best as he could.

“So. What does Mystery Man look like?”

‘Mister Nikiforov’ clicked his tongue. “A description won’t do him justice, Yuuri! It’s going to sound generic!”

He smiled a bit. “Try.”

A sigh. “He’s not too tall, but not short either. Short dark hair and _beautiful_ brown eyes.”

Yuuri nodded. “Good. And…?”

“And he can dance.”

“…that’s it?”

“That’s it! See?”

Yurio came back with the water pitcher. “That’s a shitty description,” were his two cents as he sat down to eat.

Yuuri wouldn’t have put it in those terms, but… yeah. That could be most anyone in town, including Phichit and Seung-Gil. It even applied to Yuuri himself, if he forgot about the “beautiful” part. Of course, it couldn’t be Phichit, since he’d been working at the shop all Yuletide night (and he wouldn’t have failed to mention a night of dancing with a Gorgeous Stranger), and Yuuri had the hardest time picturing the taciturn Seung-Gil engaging in conversation with Official Chatterbox Victor Nikiforov, much less dancing the night away with him. The “infectious laugh” bit made it even more improbable (no one even _knew_ what Seung-Gil’s laugh sounded like).

But even then, there were so many other possibilities, and it didn’t help that Yuuri had no idea who’d attended the festival or not. He hadn’t worn his glasses that night and he’d drunk way too much – enough not to remember anything that had happened after Victor had left his table, in fact. Not to mention that one’s perception of beauty was extremely subjective: Victor could be talking about Takeshi Nishigori, from the grocery store, and Yuuri wouldn’t know.

“Sorry, but that really is… rather vague,” Yuuri shook his head. Victor’s face fell, as if Yuuri had been his one last hope.

“See, Lilac, not even Yuuri can help me, how will I _ever_ find this man?...” he sighed, dejectedly, finally letting go of Yuuri’s hands and sitting at the table to have dinner. Then he frowned slightly: “Are you _sure_ you don’t have a fever, Yuuri? I could fry an egg on your hands!”

Yuuri raised a brow. “I could ask you the same, your hands are _freezing_!” They’d also been freezing in the morning, when Victor’s hand had covered his to make the kitchen. Maybe it was because he was an ice mage?

Victor gave him a lopsided smile. “They always are, I’m afraid. Sorry.”

Yuuri took the seat next to him, noticing both Victor and Yurio had left The Good Chair for him. “Well, you know what they say, right? Cold hands, warm heart,” he concluded with a smile.

Yurio stopped wolfing down the food long enough to scoff at that, but Victor just smiled quietly.

“Here’s hoping.”

 

* * *

 

It must have been way past midnight when Yuuri’s brain helpfully woke him up from a nightmare – this time, one in which Madame Baranovskaya destroyed Victor’s black coat and forced him to wear the same horrid shade of yellow that she did.

He dragged a hand over his face, trying to erase the image from his head; although the idea of Victor ever wearing something that ugly was obviously appalling, it was the fact that he kept dreaming about Baranovskaya that had him disturbed. His forehead was covered in sweat and his throat felt as parched as the waste lands of the west.

Yuuri got up and left the bedroom as silently as possible; Victor was sleeping in his own bedroom with the door closed, but Yurio was still in that cot under the stairs, and he didn’t want to disturb him.

The pitcher was on the pine table in the kitchen – exactly where he’d always find the pitcher back in Yu-topia – and he poured himself a giant glass of water. He guzzled it down in one go before noticing the door to the patio was ajar. He frowned. He was pretty sure he’d closed it before going to bed. But on getting closer to it, he heard faint movement outside and froze.

 _There was someone there_.

He cautiously peeked through the door; if it was a stranger then he’d just hurry upstairs, Victor would be able to – he held his breath.

During the day the castle was surrounded by nothing but empty fields, a deserted road and a looming forest – but after the sun set behind the mountains you could see none of that, and it felt like being alone in a world of dead darkness.

And in the middle of it, stranded in the night with only the stars as partners, Victor danced.

He danced in the silence once again, to music only he could hear and framed by moonlight – the moon casting a soft glow on him and making him into more of an ethereal being than he already was, more otherworldly than never despite the simple black pants and shirt and loose ponytail.

Still fairy-like in every single step.

Entranced, he watched as Victor moved around the patio as though he and the night were one, and gravity nothing at all. Whatever the music in Victor’s head was, that dance was a plea – for what, Yuuri would probably never know, but it was there. The only language Yuuri had ever been able to understand other than the Common Language was dance, and he could read it now as clear as day, Victor’s face and body an open book.

He could read it in the way he reached out to someone who wasn’t there and in the imploring look in his eyes, could see it in his hands as they invited someone to join him and in the melancholy yet hopeful smile playing on his lips. He pleaded with every line and every movement.

_Stay by my side, don’t leave_

Yuuri didn’t know where the words had come from, but they suddenly permeated his consciousness with the certainty of truth, and he knew that was the music to which Victor was dancing. He wouldn’t be able to explain how he knew it if you asked him, he just did _._ He felt it, beyond the shadow of a doubt, like something he’d always known.

As soundlessly as he’d come, Yuuri left before Victor could see him. That dance was from Victor to someone else – someone who wasn’t Yuuri – and was too intimate a moment for him to intrude on. So he left the door ajar as he’d found it and made his way back to the bedroom.

He was still lying in bed staring at the ceiling when he heard muffled steps crossing the living room and going upstairs, and then the soft click of a door being shut. As he turned on the bed trying to find a better position for his back, he told himself that _that_ was the sound he needed to keep in mind at all times. Victor’s door closing.

That sound was a reminder that he wasn’t the one to whom that door would open someday. That his heart was not the one Victor wanted to devour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The strongest of all warriors are these two - Time and Patience." (Leo Tolstoy, _War and Peace_ )
> 
> Ch.1 was supposed to be a one-shot, but I fell in love with it as I wrote it, and decided to actually write the whole story that was in my head already! ^^  
> However, I have another WIP here, Write Me In C Major (which... you know, everyone's welcome to read at any time!), which is the one I was committed to already. So after I wrote ch.1 of this, I wrote 2 enormous chapters of WMICM (as the story was at a crucial point), which is why there was such a long gap here, I'm sorry!  
> I'll be juggling these 2 fics more evenly from now on, writing one chapter of WMICM, one of FH&HF. Having 2 WIPs at the same time was definitely not in my plans, but you know. The heart wants what the heart wants! <3  
> Thank you to all those reading and asking for more!!!  
> And thanks to my faithful beta, as usual (who attacked me with a pillow at the end of the revision XD).  
> Feel free to talk to me anytime, about this or anything else, either here or on tumblr! ^_^


	3. In which pastries are Relevant

“Okay,” Victor stretched his arms above his head with a yawn, “let’s start the next one.”

“We’re done,” Yurio replied with a yawn of his own.

“What?”

“This was the last spell.”

Victor blinked at him and hastily grabbed the list the royal envoy had left him:

“Fifty location spells, thirty seven-league boots, one hundred laughing potions, two hundred good-luck charms, seventy instant fog spells…” he muttered. Then he counted all the packages neatly piled up on the table and along the window sill.

“We’re finally done,” he whispered, his eyes wide and scanning their work one last time. Then his face lit up and he turned to Yuuri, who had been half-reading a book by the fireplace and half-watching them work. “Yuuri, we’re done!”

“Congratulations, you two,” he smiled back. Working on almost five hundred spells in a month had been taking a tow on their sanity, Victor’s in particular, as he hadn’t been able to go to town and resume search of Mystery Yulefest Man (Yuuri may or may not have been selfishly pleased about that). Yurio’s mood had certainly not gotten any less sour, either. The exhaustion had even rubbed off on Lilac, who’d been quieter than usual for the past few days, and Maccachin, who’d spent most days lying by Yuuri’s feet and sleeping.

“Hope you’re ready for lunch, then!” He added, getting up from the chair with a slight crack of his joints. Maccachin got up and followed him with bleary eyes.

“Macca! Come play with Dad!” Victor said cheerfully, patting his own leg to attract his attention, but Macca solemnly ignored him and followed Yuuri into the kitchen. All Yuuri heard next was a scandalized gasp and a tad too satisfied, “Guess he found a better dad, huh?”.

It took all of ten seconds for Victor to show up in the kitchen, opening the door with an exaggerated flourish.

“Macca, don’t tell me even you have forsaken me!”

The poodle, once again lying by Yuuri’s feet, wagged his tail at seeing Victor but didn’t get up to go to him.

“Yuuri, would you kindly stop stealing my dog? Thank you, really appreciate it,” he said. Busy at the sink, Yuuri had his back turned to him, but heard the smile in those words all the same and ignored the complaint.

Next thing he knew, Victor was right behind him, lightly and rhythmically tapping his right shoulder. Yuuri threw him a surprised look, and found Victor staring at him again.

“Uh, Victor? Do you… need anything?”

“No, I was just… there was… something on your shoulder. A bug.”

“Right,” Yuuri said dubiously, going back to his cooking. He’d never been afraid of bugs or anything, but Victor had found so many of them on Yuuri’s back, shoulders, and hair over the last month (and once on his chest) that he’d started dreaming about them – entire swarms of unidentified bugs slowly climbing up his body, drowning him until his brain mercifully jolted him awake in a cold sweat. He’d spent a whole day frantically scrubbing every inch of the house three times over and insisting no one opened the windows, until Yurio had angrily huffed there were no bugs and that Victor had been hallucinating them because he was old.

But if there were no bugs – and Yuuri was beginning to agree with Yurio – what in all hells was Victor doing?

At the sound of a chair scraping the floor, he turned his head to find Victor making camp at the kitchen, instead of leaving. At Yuuri’s raised eyebrows, he shrugged and explained, “I like it here.”

“You like the kitchen?” Yuuri retorted distractedly, focused on chopping up some meat.

Victor hummed. “Well, I like watching you work, really.”

Yuuri only chuckled as he added the meat to the pot of soup he’d left simmering. “Why’s that?”

“You’re so… efficient. You make it all look so easy!”

“Victor, you can literally perform magic,” he replied, turning to look at him again. Victor had both arms on the table and his chin on his hands, watching him go about the most mundane tasks as if, between the two of them, Yuuri were the wizard and Victor the bland commoner.

Victor shook his head. “That’s different. All that is just… hocus pocus, it’s nothing. But this…” He waved vaguely at the pot in Yuuri’s hands, “this is real. Palpable.”

Yuuri stared at him for a couple of seconds – but the heat of the pot in his hands was suddenly too intense, despite the dish rag he was using to hold it, and he got the pot back to the fire.

Before he could say anything else, Yurio walked into the kitchen with his usual air of indifference that fooled no one in that house.

“Stop distracting him, old man. He’s got better things to do.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Yurio, I didn’t mean to –” Yuuri started, but Yurio interrupted him.

“Not you. I’m talking to Victor, he’s the old man here, right Macca?” he said, snickering when Maccachin wagged his tail again and Victor gasped in shock.

Yuuri had been used to thinking you couldn't find two people more different from each other than him and Phichit, but the wizard and his apprentice were there to prove him wrong. Victor reminded him a little of Phichit, in that both always had a smile for everyone and everything – but unlike Phichit, Victor’s smiles didn’t always have real warmth to them.

Yurio, on the other hand, hardly ever smiled (he smirked a lot, though), and laughed even less. That was how you knew he always meant it when he finally did.

He let the two of them bicker time away while the pot of soup simmered in the fire; when it was done, he set the table and placed the pot in the center. Victor sniffed the air.

“Yuuri, what did you make? I think I know this.”

“Oh, it’s… um, shchi?” he answered, saying the name carefully. When buying some of the ingredients in Muscovy, he’d asked a street vendor to teach him the correct pronunciation of ‘shchi’; as the man didn’t speak the Common Language and Yuuri didn’t speak Muscovian, that had been… an interesting conversation, and the results doubtful.

Victor and Yurio stared at him with huge eyes – Yurio gaping a little, while Yuuri placidly gave him back his bowl with a generous serving of the soup.

“How… how do you even know how to make it?” Victor asked.

“I found Mr. Plisetsky’s old recipe book in Yurio’s bedroom. I hope it’s alright?”

Yurio answered something unintelligible while burying his face in the bowl, diving in without waiting for anyone else.

“It’s more than alright, Yuuri,” Victor said, his voice almost reverent, “it’s great, thank you! But why did you… I mean, surely you’re more used to cooking Hasetsu food?”

“Oh, I uh… well,” he raised his voice slightly, so that Victor could still hear him over the sound of Yurio eagerly slurping his food. “I thought it’d make for a nice treat? Besides, it’s good to change every now and then, I’ve never had Muscovian food.”

He’d been feeding them only sandwiches and generally easily eaten food for the entire month, as they’d barely stopped making spells and charms. Most nights had ended with Victor taking a deeply asleep Yurio to bed at around midnight, and then coming back to work by himself with some tea and a cold sandwich. They deserved to eat proper food from their realm. Yuuri didn’t know the first thing about magic, but he could at least keep those two properly fed and make their lives a bit more comfortable.

Victor was looking at him expectantly, clearly willing him to love the soup as if he’d made it himself, while Yurio slurped his portion savagely. Yuuri took a mouthful: like he thought, it was very… cabbage-y. A bit sour, but apparently it was supposed to be. It was still good, though, not to mention pretty easy to make.

“This is good,” he reassured Victor, and got a relieved smiled from him. Only then did Victor start eating his own food, and Yurio ladled a second helping for himself. They ate in silence for a while, with Victor occasionally feeding pieces of meat to Maccachin (was he trying to bribe the dog into staying by his side?), until Yuuri realized they had nothing to drink.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t bring water!” He pulled back his chair, but before he could do anything else, Yurio stood up:

“I’ll get it,  _dedulya_ ,” he said, grabbing the pitcher and walking towards the door to the patio – and immediately turning around when he heard spluttering: Victor was covering his mouth, his shoulders convulsing with barely contained laughter.

Yurio rolled his eyes. “What now?”

They both stared as Victor tried to say something, but the sounds coming out of him were… utterly ridiculous. It was the most undignified mixture of muffled giggles and pig-like snorts, and Yuuri watched in fascination.

He eventually managed to wheeze out a word: “ _Dedulya_?”

Yurio’s eyes grew huge and he opened his mouth then closed it, his face burning red.

“You… I didn’t… you’re… _shut up_!” He opened the back door and slammed it shut behind him so violently Yuuri thought it’d break, while Victor’s laughter echoed around the kitchen, bright and loud.

(And why was he hearing piano?)

Yuuri looked from the door to Victor, then back at the door. “What was that all about?!”

Victor rubbed his face a little and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

“Oh my gods…” he chortled, looking at Yuuri with eyes alight with mirth. “He called you ‘grandpa’ in Muscovian.”

Yuuri choked on air. “He – what?!”

“Yeah! The cutest way to say it, too,” Victor explained with a huge smile.

Yuuri didn’t know what to say, only that he didn’t find it as funny. Yurio had lost the single piece of family he’d had, his grandpa, only a year before. He might be grumpy and rough around the edges, but he was still a fifteen-year-old boy with no family. How badly must he miss his grandpa to actually call Yuuri _dedulya_?

He felt his chest tighten at the thought, and changed the subject: “Is there a piano here in the castle?”

“A piano?” Victor frowned, then leaned back on his chair, gazing at Yuuri thoughtfully. “No. Why do you ask?”

“I thought I’d heard some piano notes for a few seconds.” He shook his head. “Must be the old age, then.”

But Victor just looked at him in silence, his eyes wider than usual. Then he chuckled.

“What?”

“It’s one surprise after another, that’s all. No, it’s not old age, I heard the piano too.”

“Really?” Yuuri asked, surprised. Then he smiled. “Well, but then again, you’re not that young yourself, are you?”

Victor clutched his chest with a pained look. “Yuuri! Not you too!”

“I mean, you already have grey hair, so…” he replied, trying to contain his laugh at Victor’s horrified gasp.

The teasing was cut short by Yurio’s return, his lips pressed in a thin line and his knuckles white from gripping the handle more tightly than necessary. He set the pitcher down so fiercely it spilled some water on the table; but while Victor snorted, Yuuri pretended not to notice, coolly thanking Yurio and getting a grumble in return. Pretending nothing had happened was definitely the most charitable choice.

Except that Victor seemed to have other thoughts on the subject.

With his elbows on the table and one palm supporting his chin, Victor gazed at his apprentice with open amusement.

“Sooo Yuuurio…” Victor started, drawing out all the vowels in those two words, taking way too long to say them and clearly delighting in doing so; Yurio didn’t look up from his soup, but his shoulders tensed visibly.

Before Victor could get another slow word out, however, Maccachin started barking and ran towards the Hasetsu door.

“Oh thank the gods,” Yurio mumbled, standing up and hurrying out of the kitchen to see who was knocking. In a few seconds, a new voice infiltrated the castle:

“And I see you’re graceful as always, Master Plisetsky. Good to know! Hello Lilac!”

Victor’s face brightened up a little, and he got up immediately. “Chris, finally!”

Yuuri didn’t follow him, staying in the kitchen to clean up instead. He had no idea who “Chris” was and had not been invited to join them in the living room. Victor and Yurio made it too easy for him to forget he was a servant in the castle, so he might as well remind himself.

As soon as he opened the tap and started doing the dishes, though, Yurio stuck his head through the door.

“Hey,” he said harshly. “What are you doing, come out here, Victor wants to introduce you to Chris.”

Yuuri sighed. “Sure. But who’s Chris?”

“An annoying person,” was all the answer he got before Yurio disappeared into the living room again.

When Yuuri eventually left the kitchen, it was to find Maccachin happily sniffing at the very last person he’d expected, short of Madame Baranovskaya herself: a tall, blond man wearing a long black cape that did a very poor job of covering his scandalously tight purple clothes.

Yuuri had only seen him once from afar, during King JJ’s speech for the kingdom’s anniversary, but he was hard to forget. Of all the people he’d thought might pay the Wizard Nikiforov a pleasant social call, the Royal Wizard Giacometti was not one of them. But there he was, sitting side by side with Victor and laughing at something he’d said.

Weren’t they supposed to be enemies?

“Yuuuuuri!” Victor threw him a smile. “Come here! Chris, this is Yuuri! Yuuri, this is my old friend, Christophe!”

Yuuri hesitated, trying to decide if he should just shake his hand, like two normal people being introduced by a common friend, or bow, like a loyal citizen of Hasetsu should upon meeting the Royal Wizard – but his dilemma was suddenly over when Christophe strutted up to him with a “so you’re the famous Yuuri!” and hugged him.

Not knowing how to respond to that, Yuuri reluctantly brought his hands up and awkwardly patted Christophe on the back, like he was comforting him from some misfortune. Hugs had never been a thing the Katsukis did on a regular basis, and Yuuri would much rather not touch a stranger at all. However, that was the Royal Wizard, the second most powerful man in Hasetsu. He could have Yuuri locked in a dungeon until the end of time if he so desired.

Just as he resigned himself to the hug, Christophe’s hands started wandering and Yuuri squeaked: one hand caressed his back shamelessly and the other rested inappropriately low on Yuuri’s back, pushing him even closer. Did… did the Royal Wizard have a thing for older men? Much, much older men, men old enough to be his grandfather?!

The dungeons were suddenly a charming alternative to this.

And just like that, the hug was over: Christophe was gently pulling away, but still keeping Yuuri at arm’s length, holding him by the shoulders and staring at him intently. He seemed to be looking for something.

“Um, is there… anything on my face?” Yuuri asked, with a glance towards Victor that he really, really hoped spelled out _please help me_.

“No,” Christophe answered, letting go of his shoulders at last, “there isn’t. Huh. Funny.” He looked back at Victor, who seemed to be disappointed – but disappointed in what? “You were right.”

“Told you,” Victor answered with a shrug.

Christophe turned to Yuuri one more time, with another smile and a graceful bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yuuri. Victor _raved_ about you in his last letter.”

“Oh, uh… thank you, it’s nice to meet you too.” Not quite the truth, but not a lie either. Then he remembered his manners and his duty and stiffly bowed back. “Lord Giacometti.”

“Ohhh, you’re from Hasetsu, are you? Please, no ‘lord’,” he waved a dismissive hand at the title. “Just Chris will be fine. I’m only here on an informal visit to an old friend,” he finished with a wink.

“But I thought he tried to devour your heart,” Yuuri blurted out, and then immediately covered his mouth, as if he could stop the words he’d already said from coming out. Why had he said that?! He was so stupid, you didn’t just say things like that out loud!

The two wizards stared at him for a beat – and then Chris’s laugh was echoing around the living room, startling Yuuri and making Macca bark again.

“Victor, are you still spreading those rumors?”

“Rumors have a life of their own,” Victor answered with a half-smile. “We never get to pick our own image, do we?”

“True, but you started it, _chéri_. Yuuri, darling, you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” Chris turned to him with an amused look and sat down, gesturing for him to do the same, “You see, we were at a tavern in Cialdini some years ago, and this guy walks up to us – he was really cute, wasn’t he, Vic?” he threw the question over his shoulder.

“He was okay,” Victor answered indifferently.

“Oh please, he was much more than okay. Anyway, this guy walks up to us and we start talking. He asks us what we do, so we say ‘we’re wizards’, and he’s really interested and conversation’s going great. _Then_ he asks why we’re there, and Nikiforov here” Chris threw him a pointed look, “drunk as a skunk already, says, much more loudly than necessary, that he’s looking for a heart to devour, which… really,” he turned to his friend one more time, “that has to be the single most dramatic way to say you’re looking for a boyfriend.”

Yuuri snorted. He’d tried to contain his laugh, he really had, the last thing he wanted was to hurt Victor’s feelings by laughing at something he might be embarrassed about. To his relief, Victor grinned back at him and winked.

“Of course, the place cleared out in a matter of _seconds_ ,” Chris continued, “and I was told the regular patrons wouldn’t go anywhere near the tavern for weeks. So there you have it: the ‘evil’ Wizard Nikiforov is just a stupid drunk who doesn’t like being single.”

“I see. I’ll just have to keep him away from the beer, then,” Yuuri said with a small smile. He was the last person who could accuse others of turning ridiculous when drunk – but the others didn’t need to know that.

Chris looked at him appreciatively and then turned to Lilac, who had been silently chuckling through the story. “You finally got a responsible adult in this so-called castle. Good for you, Lilac.”

“I know, right?” the fairy answered cheerfully.

“Hey!” Victor protested, but the three of them paid him no attention. Lilac and Chris started listing all the ways in which Victor needed looking after, as if he were not there at all, and Yuuri nodded solemnly – going so far as to actually grab parchment and ink and write down those instructions. Victor’s appalled gasps made for great background noise.

Yurio reappeared from his corner under the stairs, sour mood seeming to ooze from his every pore.

“You guys are so noisy”, he complained. “I’m going to town.”

“Now? But Master Plisetsky, I just got here!” Chris batted his eyelashes at him innocently.

“Exactly,” he mumbled.

“He _means_ ,” Yuuri intervened quickly, seeing Victor frown, “he’s going to go shopping for us, since we have nothing for the afternoon tea. So Yurio,” he turned to him, “could you bring us some pastries? Maybe that apple pie Victor likes and whatever else strikes your fancy there.”

He’d expected Yurio to protest, as he usually did whenever he was given a non-magical task. But the word ‘pastries’ operated magic more powerful than any of Victor’s, and he readily agreed.

“Fine. Victor, I’m taking the seven-league boots,” he announced, grabbing some coins from the pouch hanging from a nail in the fireplace. He took Victor’s battered pair of boots that was always lying negligently by the Hasetsu door and left.

Chris raised his eyebrows. “Ever the ray of sunshine, that boy. So tell me,” he turned to Victor, suddenly serious, “have you considered using the Sleeping Prince spell?”

Victor hesitated. “You mean… for…”

“Yes, of course. The, ah, ‘prince’ in question should be around our age, right?”

“Yeah, it feels like it.”

“Should work just fine then. Unless…” Chris trailed off, looking out the window and drumming his fingers on the table. Both seemed to have forgotten all about Yuuri’s presence, so he stood up quietly and headed for the kitchen with Maccachin on his heels.

Chris found the words he wanted. “What if it’s not just the original spell? What if it also comes from within?”

“What do you mean?”

From the kitchen, Yuuri heard Lilac answer: “Maybe the Sleeping Prince doesn’t want to be woken up, Vitya.”

The sound of the water splashing against the bowls in the sink drowned whatever else he might’ve been able to hear. It didn’t matter. None of that had anything to do with him.

 

* * *

 

Yurio took much longer than necessary to buy the pastries, but when he came back hours later, his arms were full of parcels from Terra Incognita.

Yuuri helped him carry everything to the kitchen: he’d brought Victor’s apple pie as well as macarons, éclairs and small tarts covered in green colored icing Yuuri had never seen before. He examined them closely.

“What are these, Yurio?”

“Caracs,” he said, before popping a macaron in his mouth and chewing loudly.

“Hmm, I don’t know this one.” As a regular at the shop and friend of the Chulanonts, Yuuri knew every pastry, cake and pie they sold there. He’d helped them at the counter sometimes, when the shop was too busy during tourist season; last year he’d even helped Phichit make the pies and roti for the Yulefest banquet – he’d been particularly proud of his work on the roti, and even bragged about them to a few people.

“Yeah, it’s new,” Yurio explained. “They just started selling it. They got the recipe from some Helvetian merchants, so I thought–” He stopped, with a sudden wary look at Yuuri, and then hastily stuffed his own mouth with two macarons.

Oh no, he was not getting away with that one. Yuuri had been merciful enough with the _dedulya_ thing.

“So you thought…?”

Yurio swallowed. His eyes flitted away, and he walked over to the cupboard to find a tray.

“Chris is from Helvetia, _ithoughthemightlikeit_ ,” he mumbled, his head practically inside the cabinet.

It was all Yuuri could do not to burst into laughter. Only Yurio would be ashamed of doing something nice.

“That’s very thoughtful, Yurio,” he said, with the most serious voice he could manage.

“Yeah, I don’t care,” Yurio replied harshly, shoving a tray into Yuuri’s hand and disappearing to the living room. Yuuri chuckled.

 

* * *

 

It was already dark outside when Chris finally took his leave.

“Say hello to Matthieu for me,” Victor said, leaning on the doorway as Chris stepped into the carriage bearing the royal arms.

“Will do. And remember what I said about the spell!” he said, with a final wink and closing the door.

They watched as the carriage drove away, venturing on the dark road – and were still watching when Chris briefly stuck his hand out the window. One languid flourish of his, and the road was now suddenly brightly lit for the coachman to see.

With a small laugh, Victor delicately pulled Yuuri away, who was still gaping at the light that came from nowhere and flooded the road.

“But… Victor… did you see that? He just –”

“Yes, I know, I know,” Victor answered, easily guiding him back inside. Once the door was closed, he yawned. “Well, I’m going to take a shower, excuse me.”

When Victor locked himself in the bathroom, Yurio perched himself on the stool eating the last of the macarons while Yuuri cleaned the table.

“ _Thistuffsreallygood._ ”

“Chew first.”

Yurio chewed properly and swallowed. If Yurio was going to call him grandpa, then he might as well take full advantage of that and teach him some manners. Hopefully, he might even get him to wear something else other than leopard print. But baby steps.

“This stuff is good,” he said, grabbing the last one from the tray, “Good thing I listened to him.”

“Him? Oh. Did Phichit recommend those to you?”

“Who? Oh no,” Yurio shook his head. “Phichit is the Chulanont kid, right?”

Yuuri nodded, trying not to laugh at Yurio calling someone four years his senior ‘a kid’. Holding back laughter was a constant in his life with Yurio, it seemed.

“He smiles too much. But he’s a nice guy,” Yurio conceded magnanimously. “No, I’m talking about Beka.”

Yuuri frowned, confused. “Who’s Beka?”

“The other shop assistant. You probably don’t know him, he’s not from Hasetsu,” he announced proudly, as if not being from Hasetsu somehow put the shop assistant above everyone else.

But that was the only puzzle piece Yuuri needed. “Ohh, you mean Otabek!”

People around town talked in whispered hushes that “the boy from the eastern kingdom was mysterious”, but that was not true: he was just quiet and serious, and not at all interested in town gossip. Not much of a smiler, either.

Oh.

Ohhhhh.

Yes, of course Yurio would like him.

So that was why he’d taken every tiny break Victor had given him over the last month to go to town, and invariably come back with sweets from Terra Incognita.

“Are you friends with him?” he asked tentatively. Yurio shrugged, trying to look indifferent, but the tiny smile on his face betrayed him miserably.

“Yeah, I guess. He’s cool.”

Yuuri smiled at him, keeping his “good for you” to himself and wondering where in the world those frantic piano notes he was hearing again were coming from.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri blinked furiously, sunlight showering his bed in the most unpleasant manner. If only the morning sun could shine a little bit less brightly, that’d be great. As it was, it was just plain rude. Maybe there was some sort of spell for that? He’d ask Victor. He would help him turn the sun down a little. Or summon some clouds, he could probably do that. He knew… magic.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep away from his eyes and looking around the bedroom.

Or you know. Maybe get some curtains for the windows. That seemed way more doable, and infinitely less dramatic.

The door was slightly open, even though he’d closed it last night, and it wasn’t hard to guess why; a simple cursory look around gave him what he was looking for: a small, neat pile of clothes on the chest. Victor had once again left him a present.

Either that or he really didn’t like Yuuri’s clothes. Who knew.

There was also a fluffy robe hanging from a peg on the door – and neither robe nor peg had been there the day before, he knew that much.

He got out of bed as slowly as his body allowed him, his feet slipping into the woolen slippers that he knew now were definitely his. The slippers muffled his steps and he walked silently towards the robe that was probably also for him.

He put it on. Yup, a perfect fit.

Through the door left ajar he could hear Victor talking; he seemed to be standing near the fireplace.

“You think that’s what it is?”

“It’s the only explanation,” Lilac answered him. “Both of you tried to break it and nothing happened. And it’s not a particularly difficult curse, either.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s really superficial, but it seems to… have taken root. Like a weed. But of course, if he adopted it…”

“Then not even the Sleeping Prince will break it. In theory, it’s already broken a thousand times over,” Lilac completed. “But he has to want it.”

“But why would he choose to stay like that?”

Yuuri opened the door and walked into the living room, noticing that Victor almost jumped at the light sound of his footsteps. His hair was carefully braided and he was already fully dressed in black pants (that hugged Victor’s thighs a bit too well for Yuuri’s peace of mind), a loose white shirt and that black coat that he hadn’t even bothered actually putting on today: he’d just casually thrown it over his shoulders. Its trailing sleeves cascaded down in waves of almost liquid black fabric, and the crystals scattered on its right shoulder caught the light coming through the window and sprinkled it around the room in small rainbows.

And yet, the most dazzling thing in the room still managed to be the smile Victor threw his way. Yuuri wondered wildly if he was still dreaming. Very likely. Victor was the stuff dreams were made of. Or at least, the stuff most of Yuuri’s dreams had been made of since Yuletide.

Except… better. Closer.

“Morning, Yuuri! I see you found the robe, do you like it?”

“Morning,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I like it, but… you didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense,” he waved the idea away impatiently. “Listen, I’m leaving in a few minutes, do you want anything?”

“Where are you going?”

Victor looked at him wide-eyed. “Going to town, of course! To find My Better Half!”

Better, closer, and completely unattainable. For so many reasons.

“Right. I forgot,” Yuuri said, trying not to sound too disappointed. He must’ve failed, because Victor cocked his head and considered him. Then, an idea lit up his face and he grabbed Yuuri’s hands.

“Why don’t you come with me?!”

Yuuri held his breath. Victor’s face was so close. So, so tantalizingly close. And he smelled intoxicating – a touch of cinnamon, a dash of lavender and a lot of Victor. Yuuri had to make a conscious effort to not close his eyes and simply let himself drown in it.

And his eyes were too blue and looking straight into Yuuri’s, making his pulse race at a speed that was bound to leave an old man like him bedridden for days.

What was he asking again?

“Um, sorry, what?”

“You could come with me today!”

Gods, did his eyes really have to sparkle like that?! Yuuri’s company wasn’t even that interesting, there was no reason for him to be that excited.

Or to be holding his hands.

Yuuri told himself he should really let go of Victor’s hands and step away (he hadn’t even brushed his teeth, for all the gods’ sake), but either his brain wasn’t fully awake yet, or his body had decided to rebel, because his feet stayed exactly where they were. And his hands made no effort to let go.

“We can make a day of it! You can show me the city properly and tell me everything about you! It’s about time, don’t you think? And we can have a late breakfast at the pastry shop!” Victor continued excitedly and – oh, Yuuri should say yes to that, shouldn’t he? Those eyes were too bright for him to say no, and there were so many things he’d like to do with that smile (smile back, kiss it, stare at it forever, bottle it up and keep it to himself where no one else could see it, kiss it a few more times, compose a sonnet in iambic pentameter about it – saying yes was just the beginning).

He could do that. He could walk around town with Victor, maybe show him the book shop? He liked books, and Seung-gil had the cutest dog, too, Maccachin would love some company. They could sit in one of the benches in the central square, listen to Leo’s lute and have pastries and tea from Terra Incognita. They could–

He blinked.

They could do nothing of the sort.

He could do nothing of the sort.

Yuuri couldn’t just waltz back into Hasetsu and expect no one to recognize him. Victor didn’t because Victor had seen him only once, two months ago (and because Yuuri wasn’t particularly memorable). But Phichit would know him the minute he set foot into his shop. Mistress Okukawa too, would be able to spot him from a hundred yards from her tavern, just like the Nishigoris if he walked by their grocery store.

Not to mention his own family.

They’d all spent his entire life having faith in him, he couldn’t let them see that their faith had been misplaced. That Yuuri Katsuki had failed so much he’d even failed at being young. They deserved to imagine him in a Far Away Land, doing Brave Deeds. He could not let them see old Yuuri, the Yuuri that looked like the sum of all his failures. It would only bring them sorrow.

He had to protect them.

With considerable mental effort, he slowly got his hands out of Victor’s.

“Sorry, I uh… I don’t think I can. I’m not feeling so well today, so um… maybe next time?”

Victor’s smile died and his eyes grew bigger. “Yuuri, what are you feeling? What can I get you?”

“No, don’t worry, you don’t have to… get me anything.” Great, and now he was feeling guilty. Yuuri should just stop interacting with people as a whole and call it a day. “It’s really nothing.”

(At least that wasn’t a lie.)

But Victor was far from satisfied with that. “Are you sure, Yuuri? I can make you a little herbal concoction, maybe it’ll help.” He smiled a little. “I’m nothing if not a glorified healer.”

“Don’t be silly, you’re much more than that,” Yuuri replied with a frown.

“True. I can also do magic! That has to count for something, I guess!”

Yuuri shook his head, his eyes wandering around the wooden floor. It was more than that.

He had so many names. Evil Wizard Nikiforov, Devourer of Hearts, Ice Mage, Living Legend Among Wizards, Gorgeous Yulefest Stranger. Those were all just names that people had bestowed on him over the years.

_We never get to pick our own image, do we?_

Names bestowed on him without his permission and that didn’t come close to doing him justice.

Could there possibly be one single word that encapsulated all that he was?

He looked back up. “You’re more than that. You’re… Victor.”

Victor stared at him in the silence that followed, and Yuuri felt his own face burn up. Why had he said that? Such a stupid thing to say, he shouldn’t be allowed to talk anymore. Ever. He should – Victor was taking his hand.

(And was he hearing a violin?)

Slowly, gently, Victor took his hand without a single word, looking at him with a soft smile.

“Now you’re just being unfair,” Victor said quietly.

“Victor!!”

The door to the kitchen burst open and Yurio stormed in, almost tripping on his own feet in his hurry and stopping short of tumbling over Yuuri.

“Yurio, what’s wrong?”

“I did it! I got it! I completed the spell!”

Victor raised an eyebrow skeptically. To Yuuri’s relief (and disappointment), he let go of his hand.

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean ‘are you sure’, of course I am, come see it for yourself!” Yurio nearly shouted at him. It would’ve been intimidating if he didn’t have his hair pushed back from his face and carefully done in a side braid ponytail. He’d probably done it to prevent his hair from falling on his eyes while he worked, but the final result was him looking more ethereal than usual.

Victor only chuckled. “Alright, let’s see it then.”

“Damn right you’re gonna see it,” Yurio mumbled.

They followed him to the patio, showered in such abundant sunlight at that time in the morning that Yuuri had to shade his eyes to see anything. After some furious blinking, he saw Yurio march over to the water fountain and make a triumphant gesture at it.

“Feast your eyes, oh Greatest Wizard Of Them All,” Yurio said with a smirk, sticking his hand in the pouch at his waist and grabbing a handful of the most glittery powder Yuuri had ever seen – pretty, like diamond dust. Or fairy dust. But where had he gotten it from? He held his breath, a horrifying thought assaulting him: had Yurio finally snapped and ground a fairy into oblivion?!

Yurio sprinkled the powder over the water, making it sparkle in iridescent colors; for a few seconds nothing else happened, and Yuuri glanced back at Victor: what were they supposed to be looking at? But Victor simply observed with a finger to his lips, looking slightly amused.

When Yuuri looked again, the light in the water flickered and the myriad of colors disappeared. In its place, a handful of small luminous points popped up. Then two more; then five, ten, twenty, the number of drops increasing and spattering the water like rain.

Like falling stars.

Tiny stars that moved around, some slowly and some vertiginously fast, incessantly, covering the entire surface and forming constellations – then disbanding and starting the dance all over again.

“That’s beautiful,” Yuuri whispered.

“That, I believe, is the Rising Star Spell performed correctly, isn’t it?” Yurio declared, and oh boy, he was _gloating_.

Victor tapped his finger on his mouth a couple of times, waiting to deliver his verdict (more for dramatic effect than due to actual deliberating, Yuuri was certain).

“Congratulations, Yurio, that’s the best I’ve seen you perform a spell so far,” he declared. Yurio frowned and Yuuri sympathized: that felt… really backhanded.

“Certainly good enough to give you a new one,” he continued, and Yurio’s mood seemed to drastically improve. “And we’re resuming our dance lessons tomorrow.”

Victor turned on his heels and headed for the door, and Yurio chased after him. “Why not today? The sooner the better!”

With one last look at the ever-dancing stars in the water (and Maccachin mercilessly lapping up all the constellations), Yuuri followed the other two back into the house.

Inside, Victor inspected himself on the full-body mirror in the bathroom, while Yurio seethed behind him.

“I haven’t had dance lessons in a month!”

“We were busy with all the spells for the king,” Victor answered, clearly paying more attention to his own hair than Yurio’s rage. He adjusted the braid over his shoulder. “And today I’ve got something else to do.”

Yuuri had never thought that it was possible for someone to aggressively roll their eyes, but Yurio was the gift that kept on giving.

“Let me guess: you’re going to town to try and find Random Yulefest Guy and get some.”

Yuuri ran a hand over his face. How in creation had that boy ended up with such manners? Behind them, he heard Lilac sigh.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” Victor replied pleasantly, “don’t be crude. Yes, I am going to town to find The Most Gorgeous Man In All The Realms. Want anything?”

“I want my dance lessons,” Yurio huffed.

“Sorry!” Victor answered blithely, sidestepping Yurio on leaving the bathroom. “But you know what they say: the secret of man’s being is not only to live, but to have something to live for!”

“So you’re giving meaning to Yurio’s existence by putting off his lesson,” Yuuri deadpanned, but Victor seemed delighted, as if Yuuri were offering genuine help to his cause.

“Exactly! See, Yuuri here gets it!”

Yurio angrily relented. “Fine, do whatever you want, I’m going to practice the Rising Star.”

The door to the patio slammed shut behind him, with only minimal wince and a mumbled “I swear his grandfather taught him better” from Victor.

“What about you, Yuuri?”

Yuuri almost jumped. “Me?”

Yurio’s fury had distracted him from the fact that Victor was at the very edge of his personal space, but it was impossible not to feel it in the new silence of the room. Impossible to run away from that fond smile, or to ignore the warmth blooming on his own cheeks.

Victor delicately brought one hand to Yuuri’s face; the hand was freezing cold as usual, but it only made the warmth spread from his cheeks all the way down to his toes.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, his voice too close. Yuuri swallowed.

“Um… no? I don’t think so, no.”

“Are you sure?” he insisted, his blue eyes glued on him, and Yuuri wanted nothing more than to look away, but he _couldn’t_.

“…I’m sure.” He was not sure.

What he was, instead, was keenly aware of Victor’s thumb discreetly drawing a pattern on his cheek.

Of Victor’s voice going a bit lower. Serious.

“You know you’re safe here, don’t you, Yuuri?”

Of all the things he expected to hear from Victor, that was one that had never occurred to him.

“Safe?” he echoed, stupidly.

“Yes. I mean…” Victor’s hand stilled, and he seemed to be carefully considering what his next words would be. “If you… I mean… I don’t know what brought you here, if you’re running from something, or… or towards something. Or hiding. But I… I’m glad you ended up here. So I want you to know that. That you’re safe with me.”

Victor was glad that he was here? Yuuri was too, definitely, but why was Victor?

“So if there’s anything, _anything_ you need,” he continued, “will you let me know?”

Yuuri blinked a few times, and then nodded. Speaking was not an option, not this up close. Not after hearing that.

Victor gave him a small, hesitant smile, and then withdrew his hand. He sighed, and then his heart smile was back.

“Well then! Wish me luck today! The king may send some royal envoys to get the spells, do you mind…?”

“Sure, no problem.” Victor was leaving. Of course. To find Him, whoever He was. Yuuri forced a smile. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks!”

With a final, happy wave, Victor was gone. Yuuri sighed.

_“Is there anything I can do for you?”_

There were many things he wished Victor would do for him; forget all about his Mystery Yulefest Man was one; take Yuuri in his arms and kiss him (for a very long time, preferably) was another. All of that after he somehow gave Yuuri his youth back.

Which Victor would never be able to do. He had no idea Yuuri was actually 23 instead of 80-something, and that didn’t look like it might ever change.

Not for lack of Yuuri trying, though. He’d made several attempts to tell them the truth during the last month, once he’d decided he could trust Victor; but whenever he tried to broach the subject, his tongue felt heavy and tied, refusing to obey him and say the words he intended to. In the end, he always ended up blurting out something like “how’s work going?” or “would you like some tea?”. Madame Baranovskaya’s magic was most likely behind this, stopping him from telling anyone he was under a curse. But Yuuri had still insisted. One night, he’d tried it so many times that Yurio had blown a fuse. _“Stop offering us tea, we don’t want any more tea!”_

So no, Yuuri wouldn’t be getting his youth back any time soon. Or have Victor for himself. Victor had Someone For Him out there – and in Hasetsu, of all places – and one day he’d find him. And when that happened…

Yurio stomped back into the living room. “Look, if Victor can drop everything to go to town, then so can I!” he growled.

Yuuri glanced at the door and then back at him. He shrugged. “Um, okay.”

Yurio’s frown vanished. He hesitated. “Okay?”

“Yeah, seems… fair. And you’ve been practicing the spell all day long, right? Go take a break, I’m sure Victor wouldn’t mind.”

“Who cares what Victor minds,” Yurio muttered, looking away. Yuuri had no intelligent answer to that, so he didn’t bother to say anything.

And Yurio didn’t move.

“I uh… I’m going to the pastry shop. I think. So. What do you want?”

Yuuri swallowed a sigh. He wanted Phichit. He wanted to lie his head on Phichit’s lap and cry about all his life choices while stuffing himself with pastries, like good old times. If he could bring his best friend to him, that’d be great, thanks.

“Some strudels would be nice,” was what he said instead.

“Sure.”

Yuuri grabbed a few coins from the leather pouch by the fireplace and carefully held Yurio’s hand while giving him the money, counting out loud.

“...nine, ten. That should do, right?”

“Yeah.” Yurio frowned. “Wow, your hands are… ridiculously hot, are you okay?”

Yuuri was careful not to let out the small, bitter laugh he felt coming. If he had a golden coin for every time someone asked him that.

“Yes, don't worry, my hands are always hot.”

Yurio raised an eyebrow but didn't question it. He left a few minutes later with the promise of strudels for Yuuri and some ass kicking for Victor.

Lilac’s soft voice filled in the silence once Yurio was gone.

“Have your hands always been this hot, Yuuri?”

“I guess so? My pa– my family always made comments about it.”

_“Don't let Yuuri take the ice to the guests. It’ll be just warm water when he gets there.”_

_“Yuuri, give me your hands, I’m freezing!”_

_“I think I’m coming down with a fever, can you check - oh no, not you, never mind. I’ll ask mom.”_

The memories drew a smile from him. Those kinds of comments had been his family's recurring jokes for as long as he could remember; Phichit, too, would often gasp in mock horror when Yuuri touched him sometimes.

The kind of stupid thing you never gave much thought to until it was gone. Then it was all you could think about, its absence felt in a way its presence had never been.

“Interesting,” said Lilac quietly.

He scoffed before he could rein it in. “There’s nothing interesting about me.”

Silence.

Yuuri’s eyes were fixed on his own feet, as if they, and only they, could tell him what Lilac had found in him that was interesting – when he had spent twenty-three years looking and found nothing.

“You really believe that, don’t you?” Lilac finally said.

He looked up. “I know that.”

“There’s lots that you don’t know, Yuuri.”

There was no answer to that, not really; what Yuuri didn’t know could fill the entire Swan Sea, he was sure.

But he at least knew himself, right?

 

* * *

 

By the time a dejected Victor came back, the sun had long set. Yuuri and Yurio had already had dinner, while Maccachin now lay by the front door waiting. Victor could whine about his dog abandoning him all he wanted, but at the end of the day, he really was 90% of Macca’s world.

When Maccachin got up and whined at the door, his tail wagging desperately, Yurio groaned.

“He better have found his Other Half already. I need my dance lessons.”

Yuuri was hoping for the exact opposite of that. Nothing personal against Yurio’s dance lessons.

They heard Victor before they actually saw him. It took a couple of minutes of listening to a long stream of “good boy” and “did you miss me” and cooing noises for Maccachin to allow him to step through the threshold of his own house.

He looked exhausted (and slightly covered in slobber now); the result of his search, or lack thereof, was so clear on his face that even Yurio kept quiet about it. Victor spoke very little while having a cold dinner, only breaking his own silence to ask them if the king had sent people over to get the spells. When Yuuri said they had, Victor merely nodded (and shrugged when told that the heavy bag of gold they’d left him as payment was on the table).

When he was done eating, Victor stood up abruptly and threw them a wide smile (a bit too wide, in fact):

“Well, the poet said it better: ‘the darker the night, the brighter the stars’!”

No one answered. The cheerfulness in Victor’s voice was so fake it was painful to hear. Yurio stared at him for a beat or two and then went back to brushing his boots clean. Yuuri nodded awkwardly.

That night, as he tossed and turned on his bed, Yuuri could hear muffled steps coming downstairs, crossing the living room, into the kitchen and out in the patio.

If he’d been having trouble sleeping before, now it was virtually impossible – there could be no sleep. Not with that aria echoing in his head, with Victor’s music rising to a crescendo and overflowing into the night. Not when he knew Victor was right outside, dancing as if his heart was about to break.

_If I could see you, from hope eternity will be born_

Not with those words pouring into Yuuri, without his being able to keep them for himself.

 

* * *

 

A month went by and each day looked pretty much the same to Yuuri: his mornings were spent in the kitchen while Yurio had his dance lessons with Victor in the patio; after lunch, they worked on whatever orders for spells or magic items they had and if time allowed, Victor would leave on his Quest for Mystery Yulefest Man.

Yurio spent hours working on the new, more difficult spell he’d been given, but also took every opportunity to drop by Terra Incognita – ostensibly, to buy sweets, but really just to hang out with Otabek. It was good Yurio had managed to make a friend around his age. Having only Victor for company for so long must’ve driven him crazy.

And so, one day blended seamlessly into the other. Yuuri would’ve had a hard time keeping track of time, if it weren’t for Victor’s noticeably increasing distress as the weeks wore on.

Every day that he managed to go to town was a day he came back home gloomier than he’d been before. Every night more depressing than the previous one, as he sat in front of the fireplace and sighed. Neither Yuuri nor Yurio knew what to do, and none of their attempts to cheer him up (or rile him up, in Yurio’s case) had much effect.

The breaking point for Yuuri was when a forlorn Victor decided to skip dinner and sit outside. He couldn’t do much else for Victor, but he could at least make sure he didn’t starve himself.

“Yurio, could you make some tea? I’m going to take these to Victor,” he asked, grabbing a plate with some of the roti Yurio had brought earlier.

Yurio headed for the kitchen and Yuuri turned to Lilac, who was paler than usual.

“Do you think he’ll eat them?”

“I really hope he does,” it answered, tiredly. Lilac sounded like it barely had energy to talk.

When Yuuri opened the front door, he found Victor sitting by the road, on a bench that had not existed there previously, with only his delicate pink jacket to protect him from the cold. He was hugging Maccachin and looking up at the night sky – with what expression, though, Yuuri couldn’t say. Victor’s hair covered his face like a silver curtain, barring everyone else out.

(In the back of his mind, Yuuri heard a faint, lonely violin.)

Without a word, he sat next to Victor and extended the plate to him, but he merely shook his head.

“It’s not an offer,” Yuuri said, a touch too gruffly, perhaps. “You have to eat something.”

“Yuuri…” Victor sighed. “What’s even the point?”

“Taking care of yourself,” he answered pointedly.

“I can’t find him.”

“Victor –”

“It’s been three months, and I can’t find him.” Victor sounded awfully like Lilac: like _exhausted_ was the only emotion they were both capable of feeling at that point.

“And if I can’t find him,” he went on, “I won’t… I’ll never…” He sighed, his voice becoming smaller. “I already feel so little.”

Victor closed his eyes, as if that admission had drained him from whatever energy he’d still had left. Yuuri didn’t know what those words truly meant; Victor’s usual mimicry of cheerfulness rarely failed to make Yuuri forget that, when push came to shove, he knew close to nothing about him.

He didn’t know the full story behind those words, but as that lonely violin kept playing at the very edge of his world, Yuuri knew that they meant more than what Yurio and Chris had implied.

_“You’re going to town to try and find Random Yulefest Guy and get some.”_

_“The ‘evil’ Wizard Nikiforov is just a stupid drunk who doesn’t like being single.”_

For some reason Yuuri couldn’t guess, and would probably never dare ask, finding Mystery Yulefest Man was about more than “finding a boyfriend”. More than a simple infatuation.

“We’ll find him.”

Victor opened his eyes and looked at him. “We?”

“You’ll tell me more about Mystery Man and tomorrow we’re going to the capital. We’ll search together, I’ll ask people. I have many contacts, you know,” he finished with a grin.

Going into town was the very last thing he wanted or needed, but right now he couldn’t think of what he wouldn’t do to see Victor’s heart in his mouth again. It didn’t have to be now or tomorrow or this week, but he hadn’t seen it in over a month and it’d become another absence weighing on his chest.

Honestly, he didn’t even need to see it, he just… wanted it whole again.

Victor didn’t give him the heart smile; he stared at Yuuri, wide-eyed and lips parted, blinking a lot. But he did breathe out a shaky laugh.

“Oh Yuuri…” He shook his head and gazed at the stars one more time, only this time Yuuri could see his expression, and the tiny smile playing on his lips.

(And the violins were so clear in Yuuri’s mind.)

“Do you really think we can find him?” he asked.

“I know we will,” Yuuri promised, sounding more certain than he felt. He extended the plate of pastries one more time. “Trust me. You’re safe with me.”

Victor held his breath, his eyes glistening as they met Yuuri’s. Wordlessly, he took one roti from the plate and took a small bite.

They remained in silence for a few moments, Victor thoughtfully chewing the pastry (and murmuring “ _vkusno_ ” in between bites) and Yuuri giving Maccachin a belly rub.

“Say, Yuuri, what do you call these again?”

He looked up: Victor was frowning into the distance.

“What, the pastry? It’s called roti. Why?”

“Yuuri,” Victor whispered, going very still and very quiet, “I think I have a clue.”

“A clue to what?”

“To Him.”

“Already?” Yuuri asked, confused. “What clue?”

Victor turned to him, his whole body seeming to sing with excitement. “Have you ever been to the Yulefest, Yuuri?”

_Breathe._

“Yes.”

“You know the banquet table?”

Yuuri nodded, with no idea where that was going.

“So, we were dancing, but then we got hungry, and he… he held my hand and led me to the table,” Victor said, blushing slightly at the mention of the Mystery Yulefest Man holding his hand. That blush went straight through Yuuri’s heart. “I was trying to choose something to eat and he gave me one of these! He said…” he scrunched up his nose, trying to remember the exact words. “He said those were the best roti in the kingdom, and that… that he worked there? He said that, didn’t he?”

“I don’t know!”

“Yeah, he did! He said he worked where the roti were made! Yuuri,” Victor touched his arm with a hand sticky with condensed milk from the pastry, “do you know who provides the fest with the desserts?”

Oh gods.

It wasn’t like Yuuri didn’t have the answer for that; he did – oh, he so did. It had always been the same place providing the desserts, and last year hadn’t been an exception. It was just that all his brain functions seemed to have halted until further notice.

Certainly he would’ve told him, right? They’d been best friends for a decade, Yuuri would’ve been the first to know. And hadn’t he been in charge of the shop all night on Yuletide?

“Victor,” and it was all he could do to keep his voice from shaking, “could you… could you describe your Mystery Man again? And don’t,” he stopped him as soon as Victor opened his mouth, “tell me how _beautiful_ he is, just… objectively tell me what he looks like, please.”

“Um, dark hair, maybe black? Brown eyes, shorter than me, but not really short. Why, do you think you know who he is?!” Victor asked eagerly.

“Is he dark-skinned?” Yuuri asked, dreading the answer he knew was coming.

But to his surprise, Victor shook his head.

“No. He’s not.”

Yuuri stared.

And breathed.

The gods were good sometimes.

Victor was not in love with Phichit.

But then who… oh.

It… made sense? He had the hair and the eyes, and he did have a nice smile. A rare one, sure, but nice. He was handsome, too. Yuuri would’ve never described him as The Most Gorgeous Man In All The Realms, but that was subjective. (“Not really short” though, was pushing it slightly.)

“Yuuri?”

He straightened his back and forced himself to look at Victor.

“Your Mystery Man is Otabek Altin.”

_Crash!_

They jumped on their seats and Yuuri clutched his chest. What the…? They turned around: Yurio was standing at the door, surrounded by broken china and tea slowly dripping onto the grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "For the secret of man's being is not only to live but to have something to live for." (Fyodor Dostoyevsky, _The Brothers Karamazov_ )
> 
> "The darker the night, the brighter the stars, the deeper the grief, the closer is God!" (Apollon Maykov, untitled poem)
> 
> Make no mistake: Victor is a well-read man. ;)
> 
> AND YES, this is secretly a Victor/Otabek fic! Dun dun DUUUN!  
> (Please, please know it is not XD)
> 
> Roti: typical Thai pastry! It's fried in butter with a banana and egg mixture on the inside, before being covered with sugar and sweetened condensed milk. [It looks messy, but also delicious.](http://cdn.24.co.za/files/Cms/General/d/2484/95414896aaee4d56a730962448e062d3.jpg)
> 
> All the thanks to [DIAnna44](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DiAnna44/pseuds/DiAnna44/works?fandom_id=11444638), who beta'ed the chapter and is a wonderful writer whose fics are An Experience (and whose new [Starfleet Academy/Much Ado About Nothing AU ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11691759/chapters/26322027) is so good it's absurd!).
> 
> I promise to love and cherish each and every kudo and comment, they're the air that I breathe! <3  
> You can also scream with me about YOI or Howl's Moving Castle on [tumblr](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/)!


	4. In which a Deal is made

“Yuri! Yuri, are you okay?!”

Victor ran towards Yurio, who still hadn’t moved from the spot.

Stopping himself from sighing out loud, Yuuri struggled to his feet and followed Victor at a deliberately slower pace. He’d lost count of how many times, lying in bed before sleep, he’d wished he wouldn’t be alone in his miserable pining; had he known Yurio would be dragged into it as well, though, he wouldn’t have wished for anything at all.

In anxious haste, Victor grabbed Yurio’s hands and examined them. The sound of china being crushed under his feet went ignored, as well as the tea languidly trickling down the threshold.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, not waiting for an answer to his first question. But while Victor both fussed over Yurio’s physical well-being and gently shooed Maccachin off, afraid he might get hurt in the porcelain shards, what Yuuri found hard to ignore was how Yurio had gone deadly still. Or how he stared at Victor as if he were seeing him for the first time in his life.

When his silence was loud enough to call even Victor’s attention, Yurio finally moved, snatching his hands out of Victor’s and mumbling “Your hand is sticky”.

“Yeah, sorry,” said Victor, crinkling his nose, “I was eating roti.”

Yurio hummed and turned on his heels, going back inside without another word.

“But what happened, Yurio, are you –”

The front door slammed on his face.

“– feeling sick?” he completed in a small voice. He turned to Yuuri with a confused look. “Do you think he’s okay?”

_Given that you’re about to steal Otabek away from him, I’d say he’s the very opposite of okay right now._

Not that Victor was supposed to know. No one had told him that the reason why that house was always riddled with cakes and pastries was Yurio’s new friendship with Otabek. The one person Yurio had found for himself, and whose undivided attention was about to become entirely Victor’s.

“He’s just… in one of his moods. He’s been like that all day,” Yuuri lied.

“Right.” Victor sighed. “Yurio can be… difficult like that, sometimes.”

Yuuri bit back a bitter _at least he doesn’t waste his time pining for someone he saw once months ago_ , because that was beyond petty. No need to answer that tiny voice at the back of his head, asking him whether he’d still feel that way if he were the one Victor was pining for. Petty he might be, yes, but not dishonest with himself.

Shrugging off Yurio’s bad mood, Victor’s face lit up once more: “So! Otabek Altin?! You know him?”

Right. Hard to distract a bloodhound once they caught scent of their prey.

(Or to stop Maccachin from licking the tea among the shards.)

Yuuri answered the next wave of questions with infinite patience, while Victor held Macca in his arms like a newborn baby: yes, he knew Otabek, he worked at Terra Incognita; no, he wasn’t from Hasetsu, he’d only moved there rather recently; no, he didn’t have “anyone special” in his life, not as far as Yuuri knew; hmm, around twenty, maybe? Yes, he agreed, Otabek was quite good-looking.

The two of them only went back into the house when Victor’s arms threatened to give out under Macca’s weight. Inside, they found Yurio curled up on his flimsy cot under the stairs, sleeping in his day clothes.

Except that, to Yuuri’s understanding, keeping your eyes forcibly shut was the very opposite of sleeping. And judging by Victor’s raised eyebrows, he shared Yuuri’s views on the subject. After a brief moment of hesitation, Victor shrugged and left it at that. With a gentle squeeze on Yuuri’s shoulder, he bid him goodnight and went upstairs.

Between the shoulder squeeze and the name Otabek Altin playing on loop in his head, Yuuri was sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep until dawn.

But what really kept him up was the passionate piano notes that played into the night, and which seemed to be coming from the living room.

 

* * *

 

Sleeping had always been one of Yuuri’s favorite things in life. It was easy and welcoming: all he had to do was lie down, close his eyes and let exhaustion take him in its arms.

That night, however, it had felt like an unrequited love, as Sleeping had not seemed to want to have anything to do with him, and he’d ended up being led down the Spiral Staircase of Overthinking.

He’d only managed to fall asleep when the darkness outside had begun to fade. At first, he’d blamed the incessant piano notes, and later himself. But in the morning, when it seemed like he’d _just_ closed his eyes, he thoroughly blamed Victor knocking on his door.

Yuuri had gotten out of bed and into his fluffy robe in a mood proper to rival Yurio’s (who was nowhere to be seen). But if Victor’s cheerful “Morning!” was probably nothing less than a thorn on Yurio’s day, it proved to be a balm for Yuuri’s lack of sleep.

“I’m ready to make good on my promise! Ready?”

Now, as Victor danced in the living room, as sunlight permeated the room and wove itself through those long silver strands, “sleep” was the very last thing on Yuuri’s mind. The only thing he felt like doing now was thanking the gods he was awake to witness that.

Realistically speaking, there had to be a reason why Victor was the most feared wizard in every land this side of the Swan Sea; but there could simply be no thinking of epithets such as “wicked” or “evil” when he danced.

“Devourer of Hearts”, though, was too accurate. What heart wouldn’t be glad to be devoured by Victor, who wore his in his smile and danced like a sylph? “Devourer of Hearts” made more sense with each passing day, devastating sense every time Victor turned to him with that smile and talked to him.

Like now.

Yuuri blinked. “Sorry?”

Victor chuckled and ran a hand through his hair, trying to brush it aside and only messing it up more. Some of it was stuck to his forehead, and a lot of it seemed like it’d take forever to untangle.

(Then again, that was probably what the small glass jar full of glittery powder, labeled **H A I R** in the bathroom was for. Yuuri had initially assumed it was remnants of people whose hearts the wizard had devoured, and that he’d soon find a jar labeled **E Y E S** or **L I M B S** . But when all he’d found was **E X T R A  S H I N E** and **V O L U M E** , he’d steered his conclusions into a different direction.)

“It’s your turn now, Yuuri.” Victor offered him a hand, panting just a little.

And oh, he’d forgotten, he was supposed to be part of the process. Once again, he’d been more focused on Victor than on what he should be trying to visualize.

What kind of bedroom did he want? The only one he’d ever known was his own back home. But replicating the Yu-topia kitchen had been an extraordinary mistake already, as it only made him miss home more; he didn’t need to repeat that experience with his bedroom. Those pangs of nostalgia took enough of his days, no need for them to reign over his nights as well.

As Victor’s hand covered his, Yuuri closed his eyes and pushed aside the images of his childhood bedroom, trying to picture someplace else (and to ignore Victor’s touch, which he was exceedingly aware of).

When he heard a quiet “there”, he opened his eyes; the corner under the stairs was no longer a corner, but an actual room with walls and a door.

His own bedroom.

His own place in Victor’s “castle”, a promise he’d never fully believed would turn into a reality. This sealed it: he wasn’t just a guest, sleeping in Yurio’s bedroom and trying not to disturb anything in there, but a permanent fixture of the household.

Someone Victor wanted to keep around.

Yuuri’s hand flew to the door knob, curious to find out what his mind had conjured up this time around. But before he could open the door, he noticed Victor staring pensively at his right hand, and slowly caressing it with his left. He let go of the knob and took Victor’s hand, examining it eagerly.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?!” he asked. How he’d managed to hurt Victor, when all he’d done was lay his hand against the magic outline of a wall that had yet to be there, was a mystery, but it wouldn’t be unheard of. Not with his luck.

Victor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What? No, how would you even – no, that’s not it. I just… well, it’s not important. Shall we see your new bedroom?” he said with a bright smile, and Yuuri was too close not to notice it didn’t quite reach his eyes. But the door was open before he could chase that thought, and Victor walked  in front of him.

“Wow, Yuuri! I didn’t realize you liked that bedroom that much!”

Yuuri looked around the room. He’d focused so hard on not replicating his own bedroom that his mind had attached itself to the only other bedroom he’d ever lived in, granting him a perfect replica of Yurio’s (minus the picture of him and his grandpa, thank the gods).

“Uhh, yeah. Sure. It’s practical.”

It was okay. More, in fact. He didn’t need anything to remind him of home. That belonged to Young Yuuri, a person best left forgotten. The more he had grounding him here and now, the better.

But the best part was that the window faced the other side of the house: no more inconvenient morning suns waking him up early. Hurray for small blessings.

“...do you like it?”, Victor asked, staring at him with large eyes.

He beamed at Victor. “Yeah, this is great! Thank you!”

Victor’s nose was instantly dusted with pink, and he looked down with a small smile, as if he’d just heard a compliment. Which was awful. Watching Victor care only made it all worse.

“Good. This is your home too, I want you to be happy here,” he finished with a shrug, his smile brightening and making Yuuri’s chest tighten - and _oh_ that was not old age, was it? That chest pain was all Victor.

The words escaped his lips before Yuuri could stop himself: “I already am.”

Victor blinked, the statement catching him off-guard. Yuuri hadn’t expected it either, hadn’t thought about it in those terms, but that didn’t make it any less true. He _was_ happy there, weirdly enough.

How long that happiness would last, though, remained to be seen. The house was good enough for three – would it be good enough for four?

Following that train of thought, he blurted out “Why are you still here?”, and it came out with such bluntness it made both of them wince.

Victor’s eyes widened at the abrupt question, and Yuuri turned around to fiddle with the handle of a drawer; not that the worn out handles were particularly interesting, but he didn’t feel like looking at the only thing that actually interested him.

“Sorry, I meant… I thought you’d be in Hasetsu right now.” He swallowed. “At the pastry shop.”

“Ohhh. I, uh...” Victor cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to rush it, you know. Best to go when the time is right.”

Best to go when the tim– what? Yuuri looked back at him, only to find him suddenly interested in the doorknob, turning it this way and that as if to make sure it worked properly. As if there was any chance that it wouldn’t.

How come Victor wasn’t in Hasetsu already? After telling him about Otabek, Yuuri had been certain he wouldn’t even see Victor today, that the wizard would spend his every waking moment with his Mystery Man.

The silence stretched on, and Yuuri’s mind jumped between possibilities like a monkey between branches. But the one theory he kept bouncing back to was this: what if Victor didn’t want Mystery Man anymore? That was the one crazy, wonderful option running circles around him, too fast for him to grab a hold of and too tempting not to consider.

Meanwhile, Victor kept playing with the doorknob, seemingly unaware that eye contact was a thing.

Then it finally clicked.

Yuuri squinted. “You went there this morning, didn’t you?”

“...he wasn’t there yet,” Victor mumbled, still not looking up.

Of course.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “Otabek works in the afternoon shift. I should’ve told you.”

“And Mr. Chulanont wouldn’t tell me where he lives!” Victor whined, letting go of the knob and looking at him again with wounded eyes.

“What, really? Why ever not?” asked Yuuri, astonished. Since when did people in Hasetsu withhold information from those who asked?

Victor rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… no one in town seems too happy to see me these days, if you want to know,” he confessed. “Not since the fight.”

Oh.

Oh no.

The problem was obvious. People must’ve simply regarded Victor as the nice, handsome foreigner at first, the guy asking funny questions about “the most beautiful man in all the realms”. But once they’d seen him using magic against Madame Baranovskaya in the middle of town, it couldn’t have taken too long to put two and two together and realize he was none other than the Wizard Nikiforov.

_“That’s a town, with real people in it. They have names, lives, they’re not just collateral damage.”_

And that was his reward. No wonder he had been coming home more and more discouraged each day.

“Well… you can see him in the afternoon, then. I’m sure he’ll be there.”

Victor sighed and tied his hair in a messy ponytail, with a pink ribbon that materialized out of thin air when he wiggled his fingers. Not exactly a match with his black pyjama pants and green undershirt, but Yuuri found he didn’t care in the slightest. Victor could wear whatever.

(Nothing whatsoever would also be good.)

“I can’t go back today,” said Victor, “I got an emergency summons from the Caesar of Muscovy. It’s gonna be a four or five-day job, so… no pastries for me,” he finished with a resigned smile.

The fight between enjoying the news and comforting Victor, like a decent person would, was an arduous one. Feeling borderline cheerful at that was positively indecent, but that was who he was now, apparently. Old, stupid and selfishly incapable of empathy, with the compliments of Madame Baranovskaya.

(Though he couldn't quite blame that one on her, could he? No, that was all Yuuri Katsuki.)

“In that case, let me make you lunch before you go.”

“Don’t worry, Yuuri, you don’t have to,” said Victor with a dismissive hand wave.

Yuuri frowned and wiggled a finger in his direction. “You are _not_ leaving this house before you’ve eaten. Have I made myself clear?” he said sternly.

(Oh no. He was channeling his own mother now.)

(Well. Still leagues better than channeling Grandpa Katsuki, with his cranky demands and jingoist comments over Yuletide supper.)

“Yes, sir,” was the reply, though Yuuri had trouble understanding the words under the loud snort Victor let out. That was okay. He could laugh all he wanted, but he was not going to travel on an empty stomach.

He reached the kitchen as fast as his legs allowed him, with Maccachin magically sprouting from under the table and loyally following him. Well, “loyally”; Yuuri was the man with the food, so that loyalty was questionable, even if still more than welcome. He laid peacefully by the kitchen table while Yuuri chopped some vegetables.

How Macca managed to sleep with the furious sounds coming from the patio, however, was the puzzle of the day. If his imprecations outside were anything to go by, Yurio was in the foulest of moods.

(And the piano notes that had kept Yuuri from sleeping were at their fiercest right now. How could Macca not hear them?)

Ostensibly, Yurio was practicing the new spell Victor had given him a couple of days before, but that was just an excuse. He needed some space, and Yuuri would be the last one to blame him. He rather wished he could express himself just as openly, instead of just furiously chopping vegetables in the loneliness of the kitchen. But what was somewhat forgiven in a fifteen-year-old was hardly acceptable in an eighty-year-old man.

A pity no one had warned Victor to stay away for now. Yuuri heard him walk into the kitchen and out onto the patio, only to be greeted by a vicious “ _what do you want?!_ ” outside. Victor mumbled an apology and went back to the living room faster than the speed of light.

Through the open door, Yuuri heard him whisper to Lilac, “Is it me, or is he worse than usual today?!”

 

* * *

 

In the end, Yurio hadn’t shown up for lunch, saying he’d eat later. So the meal had been spent with Victor babbling about Mystery Man – and repeating the name “Otabek” as if he could conjure him up just by saying it enough times – and Yuuri silently listening and nodding when appropriate.

After lunch, Victor started to get ready for his trip to Muscovy, and after doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, Yuuri retired to his new bedroom; he could well use a couple of hours of sleep. He’d been in bed for around half an hour, failing to fall asleep, when he noticed something on one of the walls.

He put his glasses back on. Was that…?

Oh, for all the gods’ sake.

Ignoring the creakiness of his joints, Yuuri got up and went into the living room. He found Victor already dressed up, looking his usual dazzling self in a coat Yuuri hadn’t seen before: long, silvery white fabric that cascaded down to his knees, clinging tightly to him and glittering like it was solely made of crystals. His long hair was neatly pulled up in a serious ponytail, not one hair out of place, and a blue crystal dangled from his right ear.

Yuuri did his best not to clutch his heart, lest Victor think he had chest pains. But if Victor continued being this unreasonably beautiful right in front of him, Yuuri would soon not be lying about having a heart condition.

“Beautiful coat,” he said mechanically.

Victor almost blinded him with his smile. “Thank you, Yuuri! Came to see me off?”

“Yeah, about that...” Yuuri cleared his throat. “You’re going to Muscovy, right?”

“Right! I should be back in four days. Five at most,” he said, carefully adjusting one of the sleeves. “Why, would you like anything?”

 _My youth back would be nice_. “No, no, I’m good. Thank you. Uh…”

“Please keep an eye on Yurio for me? I tried to talk to him but...” he frowned, then shook his head, “he’s impossible today, don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

 _If you only knew._ That was a whole jar of worms Yuuri wanted no part of.

“Um… Victor?”

“What?”

“You left the Muscovy door in my bedroom.”

“I… _what?!_ ”

Victor hurried into his bedroom and stopped in the middle of it, staring at the door on the left wall. His hands went to both sides of his face and his mouth formed a perfect ‘o’.

“Yuuri, oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“That’s okay. I mean... you can fix it, right?”

“Yes, of course!” Victor turned a bright heart smile at him. “I’ll fix it as soon as I get back!”

“Great,” said Yuuri, breathing relieved. Then his brain caught up with the end of that sentence. “Wait, what? When you get back?!”

Victor didn’t pay a lot of attention to his protest, however: his eyes scanned the bedroom – up the the bare walls, past the empty writing desk and down to the very last drawers on the chest, completely lost in thought.

“Victor, your customers will come knocking on this door!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll put up a sign,” he answered distractedly, still looking around.

“A sign?”

Victor reached inside his coat and, with a flourish, produced a slick wooden sign with gold letters that said **WARLOCK ROMANOFF NOT IN FOR ANYONE**.

“There. This should keep people away,” he said with a wink.

Considering how deadly afraid of him people already were, that sign should keep them away for years to come.

Victor opened the door, and the usual cacophony from the Muscovian market barged in uninvited. He affixed the sign with no hammer or nail, just a graceful wave, and turned back to Yuuri. “See you when I get back?”

Yuuri nodded. “See you.” A moment of silence, and just as Victor was about to turn around, he added, “Have a safe trip.”

That last addition was rewarded with a heart.

“Thank you!”

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the afternoon, the only sounds permeating the house were Yurio’s wrath being unleashed in the patio, Maccachin’s snore, and the frenetic piano notes. He was used to these by now, they were almost like his personal musical ghosts. It was just… the piece was _exhausting_. It was beautiful, yes, but too energetic, too restless, and it made him tired just to listen to it. Whoever was playing it must be in desperate need of a break.

(Who _was_ playing it?)

To drown all those little house symphonies and keep himself busy, Yuuri got a bucket of soapy water, a wooden brush and an old rag, and started scrubbing off some muddy prints Maccachin had left in the early morning. His back wouldn’t thank him later, but this was as good a distraction as any. He should focus on the task at hand instead of on Victor. On whether he would be fine on his own, and how long it’d take him to come back. He’d said “four or five days”, surely it was okay for Yuuri to hope for four rather than five?

Except that when Victor came back, it wouldn’t be to Yuuri, but to Otabek. His Other Half of the Duet. Would Victor even bother stopping by to say hello before rushing to Terra Incognita? How did Otabek feel about Victor? Had he truly not seen him around town all this time? That seemed unlikely. What if –

“-ged, Yuuri.”

He jumped about half a foot in the air, his heart lurching painfully in his chest at the sound of that voice.

“Gods above, Lilac, are you trying to kill an old man?!” he complained, bringing a hand to his chest to calm down the heartbeats thundering in his ribcage.

The light simply chuckled. “Sorry, Yuuri. Where were you right now?”

“I...” _was failing spectacularly at not thinking of Victor, what about you?_ “I was just distracted.”

“Right.”

The annoying thing about Lilac was that it always seemed to know much more about Yuuri than he’d ever told it. Than he’d ever told anyone, for that matter. It said _Right_ , but it really meant _It’s cute how you think you can lie to me, when I know exactly how you feel and who you’re thinking of_.

“So, um… you were saying?”

“I said the brush is singed.”

Yuuri looked down: the wooden handle of the brush he was holding was singed around the edges, and the middle of it was past that, transitioning from singed wood to outright piece of coal.

He dropped it with a yelp and frantically examined his own hand expecting to find it burned – but it was intact. A bit rough, wrinkled, but all in one piece, same as always.

Hesitantly, Yuuri poked the brush, and found it warm but safe to touch. He turned it in his hands: the burn marks in the middle were shaped like his fingers. The smell of burnt wood still lingered faintly in the air, not unpleasantly, but still very unexpectedly. The brush seemed to have simply started burning in his hand.

Just like the door of the castle that day.

He'd been more scared than he'd ever been in his life that evening, but not enough to chalk it up to his imagination. He _had_ melted the door, though the ‘how’ of it was a question he'd conveniently avoided trying to answer. Telling himself it was a magical property of the house, that he house had decided to let him in, was easy.

But there was no explaining away the brush.

And judging by its next question, Lilac was just as aware of it.

“Has anything like that ever happened before, Yuuri?”

He took his time with his answer. Saying _yes, I melted that very door a couple of months ago, remember?_ seemed like the right thing to say, somehow. But that would imply an entire reality where he, Yuuri Katsuki, could melt things with his bare hands – and that was just not reasonable.

In the end, he settled for a quiet “maybe” that didn’t answer much.

Lilac hummed, cocking a head it didn’t have and gazing at him, contemplative. Yuuri looked away and went back to his task, drying the floor with the rag. The last thing he needed was another cryptic conversation with the light.

“How would you like to make a deal, Yuuri?”

His eyes darted up. “A deal? What do you mean?”

“As in, you promise to help me with something, and you get something out of it in return. A deal,” the light replied calmly.

Yuuri’s brows knitted. That had to be the most puzzling thing he’d ever heard in that house – and that was saying a lot. “What would you need my help for?”

“I’d like you to break the… contract that binds me to Victor.”

He gaped. Okay, now _that_ was the most puzzling thing he’d ever heard. It was such a deceivingly simple statement he didn’t even know where to start.

But one thing at a time. “You’re… bound to Victor?”

Lilac squirmed slightly in its lantern. “More like we’re bound to each other, really. Through no one’s fault. Or rather, our mutual fault. And now we are shackled to each other.”

“But why are you asking me for help? Why not Yurio? He’s the one who’s an actual wizard.”

The light snorted. “Sure he is. You see, he doesn’t quite have what it takes.”

“And you think I do?” asked Yuuri, skeptical.

“I know you do. You have just the right touch.”

Yuuri stood up with a groan, grabbed the Good Chair and sat down, staring at the purple light. _The right touch_ , what did that even mean?! Talking to Lilac was the opposite of enlightening on a good day, but this… this was outright meaningless.

“Okay. Why should I help you? What do I get out of it?” he asked. That was how Lilac had defined it, right? Him getting something for his troubles.

“Help me break the bond and in return… you’ll get what you desire the most.”

He blinked once, then twice. “How would you know what I want the most?”

“I think the question is, do _you_ know?”

“Of course I do!” he replied, offended. “I want my y-... my… my yyy _uncle_ back.”

He closed his eyes in frustration. Gods damn it all, the _curse_. It just wouldn't let him _say it._

“Your… uncle?” Lilac echoed, baffled.

“No, I meant… I can’t – never mind, just… I didn’t mean ‘uncle’,” he explained. Poorly, it was true, but it was the best explanation he could offer from within the confines of the curse. “But yes, I do know what I want the most.”

“Hmm. Do you now. I wonder,” the light replied, in a condescending tone that almost made Yuuri get up from that chair and abandon that conversation entirely. “Well then, do we have a deal?”

Yuuri considered it. A bargain with a magic being. The exact kind of stupid thing that made parents give up their first borns in exchange for lettuce, or their favorite daughter for a rose. A great start for a story, not so great when reality came knocking on your door, and all you had to show for it was three miserable beans instead of a whole cow.

But then again, maybe he could pull it off. That was what Youngest Sons did, right? Solved Riddles, Guessed Names, Won Bets and Saved People. By all accounts, he was destined to succeed.

(Not that he’d ever given accounts that much credit).

Besides, Lilac was not an inexplicable old man conveniently waiting to trick him at a fork in the road; it was infuriating and enigmatic, yes, but invariably kind to him.

“And what happens if I don’t find a way to break your… contract?” he asked cautiously, trying to read the fine print in the deal.

Lilac seemed to shrug. “To you, nothing. You’ll just keep on… not having your heart's desire.”

“And how do I break the bond between you two?”

“Does that mean you’ll take the deal?” the light asked eagerly.

Yuuri took a deep breath. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

“Fantastic!” Lilac exclaimed, and it was the first time Yuuri had ever seen it unmistakably _happy_ , instead of distantly entertained at best. It even shone brighter for a few seconds.

“So,” he repeated, “how do I break it?”

“Oh. Um. I can’t tell you.” Yuuri’s jaw dropped open, and the light coughed. “You see Yuuri, just asking you for help is close to cheating. The one to undo our bond has to be Victor, and no one can help him, myself included.”

“ _What?!”_

“It’s part of the contract. But Victor… Victor is too cold-hearted to succeed at this all by himself, so I thought I’d give him a little push. There’s nothing that says someone else can’t accidentally stumble on the right answer,” it added, and Yuuri was positive there was a sly smile somewhere in that ball of light.

“But if I ‘stumble on the answer’, I still can’t tell him,” he pointed out.

“No,” Lilac agreed, “but it’ll be enough.”

 _How?_ “So… you’re asking me to break a bond, but I can’t know how to break it?” he asked slowly.

“Yes.”

“You’re not making this easy.”

“Never said I would.”

Well, that was just rich.

And how predictable. He’d struck a deal with a magical creature and what happened? He’d been _deceived_ into a bargain he wouldn’t be able to win. Of course. He should’ve known.

So much for The Rule of the Youngest Son.

He groaned. “Can’t you even give me a hint?”

“I _have_ given you a hint!” Lilac protested. “Two, in fact, if you're counting.”

“Which hints?!”

“Nah-ah, no do-overs. A hint is not a hint if I point it out to you, now is it?”

Yuuri was pretty sure that was not how hints worked – but what did he know about magical hints?

“The only other thing I can tell you is: help Victor in whatever he needs,” the light continued. “Stay by his side at all times. That ought to help.”

He frowned. That was… vague, and awfully simple. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Well. That was that, then. With a sigh and a tired “fine” to Lilac, he got up from the chair and moved into the kitchen to make tea.

What had he gotten himself into?

 

* * *

 

Dinner had been a silent affair, with Yurio’s bad mood lingering between them. His crankiness wasn’t targeted at Yuuri, but its _real_ target wasn’t there, so it simply hung heavy in the air, lost and without purpose.

And when Yuuri had suggested that he drop by Terra Incognita the next day to buy them more sweets, the boy had steadfastly refused. He wasn’t going anywhere, he was sick and tired of those pastries and cakes, and he had a spell to practice anyway.

“Freaking Angel of Fire spell that won’t work,” he’d mumbled.

And that was the pattern for the two days that followed: wake up, make them breakfast (“Yurio, we need bread, could you buy us some?” “Will that take me near the pastry shop?” “Not unless you want it to” “I don’t!” “Then it won’t. Here’s the money”), clean the house, make lunch, rest, make dinner – all punctuated with furious piano notes, Yurio’s frustration with the new spell, and a notable absence of pastries.

On the third day, Yuuri went to bed more mentally exhausted than he’d been since his first day in the castle. He’d never realized how fast time flew by when he had a Victor to look forward to at the end of the day. He could only guess how much worse Yurio’s mood would get when Victor did return, but still. Not too steep a price to pay to have Victor back.

It was with that thought and the sounds of silence all around him that Yuuri fell asleep, while Maccachin curled himself at the other end of the bed and snored softly – and it was with the sound of the doorknob turning that he woke up hours later, the entire bedroom still enveloped in darkness.

He sat up and stared at the door, waiting to see Yurio walk in. What time was it, what was he doing in Yuuri’s bedroom at this ungodly hour?! But to his surprise, the door that opened was not the one in front of him, but the one to his right.

The door to Muscovy.

Petrified, he held in his breath as he watched the door open up bit by bit – just a fuzzy blur moving and letting in the faint light of street lamps – while he discreetly nudged Maccachin with his foot. If anything, the dog could bark loud enough to scare the intruder away, or call Yurio’s attention (would Yurio even wake up, back in the safe haven of his own bedroom?). Maybe if Yuuri screamed, there might be someone walking on the streets, maybe –

“Yuuri?”

Oh. _Oh_. He exhaled slowly, as his heart rate subsided to a less painful rhythm. He’d know that voice anywhere, even in a whisper in the middle of the night. “Victor?”

“Hey you,” was the soft response he got. Yuuri quickly fumbled around in the dark until he found his glasses on the nightstand. With them on, night around him went from being hazy to focusing on that which was always his focal point: Victor smiling at him. His hair fell free and velvety over his shoulders, and his white coat still sparkled as much as it did three days ago.

“You’re back,” he said, not sure why he was whispering.

“Yes, I – hey, hey boy, yeah,” Victor laughed, trying to keep himself standing when Macca jumped on him, “glad to see you too!”

Once he coaxed Maccachin out of the bed, Victor took his place, taking off his shoes and comfortably sitting cross-legged as if there was nowhere he’d rather be than in Yuuri’s bed.

(A very welcome thought that Yuuri had to fight off with all his mental powers.)

“Sorry to wake you up, though,” said Victor, looking the opposite of sorry that Yuuri was awake.

“That’s okay, I just… I thought you’d be gone for at least another day?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, leaning his head against the wall with a fond expression. “But I missed… this. I missed home. And the job was much easier than I thought it’d be,” he added dismissively.

“And what did the Caesar want you for?”

Victor shrugged. “Ordinary stuff. His son’s health is quite fragile, and he needed a healer. But the boy’s all good now.”

He said that as if healing the sick was easy and unworthy of attention. As if anyone could do it.

But no one was as far from being ‘anyone’ as Victor.

“You know, I had an idea when I was there,” he said, nodding towards the kingdom lying on the other side of the door. “Why don’t you come with me next time?”

“Come… where?” asked Yuuri, taken aback.

“To Muscovy!” Victor leaned forward excitedly, his face closer to Yuuri’s – and Yuuri instinctively moved forward too, before remembering himself and leaning away.

“Why would I go to Muscovy?”

Victor cocked his head. “To visit, of course. It’s beautiful! You’ve only seen the street we’re on, but there’s so much more! There’s the Red Palace, and the Imperial Square, and the port… lots of things to see, people to meet… I really think you’d like it!” he finished enthusiastically.

All Yuuri could visualize, though, was Things to See and People to Meet. A Youngest Son’s duty that he’d neglected for so long.

Except that that was 23-year-old Yuuri’s duty: to Go On An Adventure. He was 80 now (at the youngest), he could do whatever and go wherever he liked, and not worry about what Young Yuuri should be doing, right? He didn't owe anyone anything now, and if he wanted to see a new place, then by gods he would do it.

A prospect that got even better with Victor offering to go with him.

He nodded, solemnly. “Yes, sure. I’ll go with you next time, if you… if you’d still like me to,” he added, feeling his face flush. Good thing he was able to hide in the dark what his face treacherously tried to advertise at every turn.

“Great! I’ll make arrangements and let you know!” said Victor, and there it was: that smile, the real reason why Victor was known as the evil Wizard Nikiforov. Because he smiled like _that_ , without mercy or a single thought to spare about everyone else’s hearts.

Truly wicked, he was.

“Also, there’s… something else I’d like to ask you? Or rather, ask _of_ you,” Victor continued, this time hesitantly. Little did he know that Yuuri couldn’t think of a single thing that Victor might ask of him that he’d say no to.

He adjusted his glasses up his nose and nodded once again. “Tell me.”

Victor looked not quite away from his face, but definitely from his eyes, focusing instead on his chin and twirling a silver lock of hair between his fingers. “I was wondering if you could… go with me today.”

“Go where?”

“To the pastry shop.”

 _To see Otabek_ was the part left unsaid, and the one that least needed saying.

As well as the very last thing Yuuri would ever wish to do.

And yet. _“We’ll find him,”_ Yuuri had told him, only four days ago. He’d said he’d help. How could he deny him anything? How could he say no to those eyes, timidly pleading with him from under those eyelashes?

He’d also promised Lilac, as part of the bargain.

_“Stay by his side.”_

He swallowed a sigh and forced out a smile. “Of course.”

It might be the last thing he wanted to do, but at the very least, it did not go unrewarded: before Yuuri knew it, he had a wizard hanging from his neck and all over him, hiding his face on Yuuri’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured, words muffled in the flannel of Yuuri’s pyjamas. Yuuri barely heard it, redirecting all of his mental strength towards not burying his nose in Victor’s hair.

Instead, he clumsily patted him on the back. “It’s… no problem at all.”

(Victor didn’t need to know how much of a problem it actually was.)

Disentangling himself with a smile still playing on his lips, Victor let go of him – to Yuuri’s infinite both chagrin and relief – and got out of the bed. “I should let you get back to sleep. Big day tomorrow!”

Yuuri could only hope that he was smiling, and not grimacing. “Yes. Big day.”

“Oh!” Victor snapped his fingers. “I forgot – I brought you something!”

“You… brought me something? But I… I didn’t ask for anything.”

Victor chuckled. “I meant I brought you a present, Yuuri. Thought you could use a little bit of color in here.” With those words, he produced an enormous bouquet of blue roses. It was the most beautiful thing Yuuri had ever seen short of Victor himself.

He held his breath. “Victor, this is… they’re _gorgeous_ ,” he said, falling back on whispering for fear of disturbing the fabric of reality. A reality where _Victor_ gave _him_ flowers was something not to be scared away by loud exclamations, but treated with the utmost care of low voices.

“Aren’t they?” said Victor, beaming and placing the bouquet in Yuuri’s hands. “They only grow in Muscovy, I thought you might like them. Your room was too… naked. Besides, it’s your favorite color, right?” he finished, winking at him.

 _Don’t do this to me_.

“Yeah, it is… Victor, thank you so much,” he said, keeping his eyes glued on the flowers. Best not to look straight at him right now. Just listening to his voice soften from enthusiasm to warmth as he said “You’re welcome” was enough to send his heart aflutter.

“And you can put them here.”

When Yuuri looked up, there was a beautifully carved glass vase on the writing desk, already filled with water. Without a word, Yuuri started to get out of bed – Victor made a gesture to get the flowers from him, but he shook his head. Yes, it would be faster if he just let Victor put the bouquet in the water for him; however, there was nothing else, no other possession, more precious to him right now than these flowers. He should take care of them himself.

The silence was only broken by Yuuri’s small grunt as he got up, and by his feet dragging across the short distance between bed and desk. Victor observed with curious eyes as Yuuri lovingly arranged the flowers in the vase with light and expert fingers.

When he was done, he took a step back and admired his handiwork , though it was Victor who gave the final verdict.

“It looks beautiful here.”

Yuuri looked at him once again. At that sharp jawline, and those eyes that matched the flowers so well. At the hair spilling silver over his shoulders and down his back, and the tip of that nose that Yuuri had thought of kissing way too many times. “Yes,” he agreed.

_Yes, you do._

 

* * *

It took Victor two hours to get out of the bathroom. If it didn't take longer, it was because Yuuri helped him through the crisis.

(“Victor, it looks great braided, you don't need to start over. Yes, I know you wore your hair down at the Yulefest – um, because... you told me – but he'll recognize you either way. Yes, I'm sure.”)

(Having that conversation while Victor wore nothing but a towel had been nothing short of a test of fortitude.)

Now, with his hair in a braid and his black coat casually thrown on his shoulders, Victor was a sight for sore eyes. All Yuuri could do was hope he didn't look too shabby in comparison, in his grandpa-like outfit.

“You sure you don't want to go, Yurio? I thought you liked it there,” asked Victor, extending a pair of worn out boots to Yuuri. He took it, not sure what he was supposed to do with it.

“Not a chance in all the hells,” Yurio mumbled from his stool, hunched over a scroll and pointedly not looking at them.

“Want anything from there?”

He shook his head, and that was that. Victor slung his own pair of boots over his shoulder and went over to the front door, now with a new addition next to it: a round knob painted in three colors – blue, red and pink. The knob had come in at the same time the door to Muscovy in Yuuri’s bedroom had disappeared. Now, according to Victor, all the doors were contained in one.

 

_“If you want to go to Hasetsu, just turn the knob with the blue side down. To go to Muscovy, red down.”_

_“And where does the pink one lead to?” Yuuri asked._

_“Oh, you know,” Victor waved a hand at nowhere specific, “here and there.”_

 

After that, all questions about the door had been dodged, and Yuuri had given up.

Victor turned the blue side on the knob down and they stepped outside. Sudden daylight struck Yuuri like a knife, after he’d spent the last few days cooped up at home; but once he stopped furiously blinking and his eyes adjusted, he found Victor sitting on the grass.

“Yeah, here is good enough,” he muttered, putting on his boots. He carefully stood up, not moving one single inch from the spot, and smiled at Yuuri. “We’ll start here!”

Yuuri looked around in confusion, but there was nothing there other than the two of them, empty fields, the road to Hasetsu and the forest in the distance. How were they going to – _oh_.

He looked at the boots in his hands.

“Victor, are these… the seven-league boots?”

“Yes! You haven’t used them before, have you?”

Yuuri shook his head, holding the boots between his thumb and forefinger at a full arm’s length, frowning at them.

A magical item. It was one thing to live in a house full of them and watch others handle them, but another entirely to use them himself.

“You sure there isn't another way?” he asked, but Victor only chuckled.

“I'm afraid I don't have a carriage, like Chris. But just one step will take us to the edge of town!”

One step. And to think it had taken him the better part of a day to walk that distance.

“But, um… these don't seem my size?” he tried one last time.

Victor winked, looking amused. “You’ll find that’s not a problem. Come.”

With no alternative, Yuuri went to his side and painstakingly sat on the grass. As soon as his foot slid into the boot that was easily five sizes above his, it turned into a perfect fit. He held his breath.

He was using _magic_.

A small smile escaped him; where were all the whispers, all the hushed “what’s Yuuri Katsuki going to do with his life” now?

_Watch me._

The rush of the moment was severely lessened when he had to ask Victor for help to stand up, sure, but still. The small feeling of victory remained.

Unceremoniously, Victor took Yuuri’s hand firmly in his.

“Shall we? It might not be too pleasant the first time around, I’m afraid. It takes some getting used to.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened: was this going to be painful? Oh, this was a bad idea. Maybe he should stay home, maybe he –

“We go together on the count of three. We’re already pointed towards Hasetsu, so all you’ll have to do is take one step forward. Hold your breath and _don’t_ let go of my hand. Ready? One, two, _three._ ”

Yuuri obediently took one step forward, but nothing could’ve prepared him for road, fields and sunlight blending together in one sickeningly colorful blur; the miles whooshed past him in the work of a moment, the wind pulling his hair and the skin on his face backwards until he felt like he was nothing but a skull – wind that would be stealing all air from his lungs if he hadn’t held his breath like Victor had told him to.

And just like that, it was over. Yuuri gasped and doubled over; his stomach churned weakly and his vision swam in and out of focus despite the glasses, his heart throbbing dangerously fast against his rib cage, like it just wanted out.

Victor’s arms wrapped around his waist almost immediately. With a quiet “easy now” he helped Yuuri sit on the ground, sitting right behind him and letting him rest his head on his chest. Yuuri closed his eyes and leaned against Victor, taking slow, deep breaths.

While he waited for the world to stop spinning, he felt Victor take off his boots. Then a hand began lightly carding through his hair, brushing it back into place in soothing movements. With each breath he took and each brush of that hand, the nausea slowly eased off.

Victor was saying something, and the words began dripping into his consciousness as the ringing in his ears died down.

“...form can’t be good for you, Yuuri,” was the first thing he understood in those whispers, and “you have to undo this.”

Undo this. Undo what?

Yuuri opened his eyes, and with a bit of an effort he gradually sat up.

“How are you feeling, Yuuri?”

He twisted around to look at Victor; a few thin strands of hair had come out of the braid, and his shirt was wrinkled from Yuuri’s weight. But all in all, Victor would’ve looked mostly well put together, if he weren’t so obviously distressed.

Despite his heart beating more weakly than usual now, Yuuri gave him a small smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m –” he took one more deep, labored breath, “– I’m fine. Really!” he added, when Victor raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri, I just… I didn’t think it would affect you this much.”

Yuuri gave him a lopsided smile. “I’m too old, Victor.”

“Hmm, sure,” he said in a neutral tone. “Do you think you can get up?”

Getting up was much more difficult than it should’ve been; but then, nothing was easy at 80 years old. It took them a couple of tries, but as the Rule of Three clearly dictates, third time's the charm; with Victor’s help, Yuuri was eventually standing on his own feet and looking around.

They were on the outskirts of town, where the houses were simpler, the side streets were unpaved and there were fewer people – which meant they automatically drew more attention. Victor in those clothes, specially, was already attracting his fair share of curious looks.

“Come on, let’s go,” he murmured, pulling Victor by the hand and avoiding eye contact with everyone else. All it took was one person looking past his wrinkles and grey hair, one person recognizing him, for everything to be over. Victor slung both pairs of boots over his shoulder by the laces and obediently followed him.

As they journeyed further into town, the houses grew bigger and prettier, commerce looked more alive and the streets, although still relatively narrow, became more populated; at one point, they had to flatten themselves against the wall of a house to make way for a carriage.

When they left a side street onto the slightly broader main one, Yuuri spotted the river with one of its solid red bridges; the water glistened blindingly under the sun, and yet it was impossible for him to look away. Looking at it now, after having stayed away for months, it felt like yesterday that a sturdy 12-year-old Nishigori was surprise-pushing him into the water, while an angry Yuuko yelled _he can’t swim, you moron!_

At his loud snort, Victor’s eyes went round.

“What’s so funny?”

“No, it’s... ” he waved a hand, “it’s a long story. Nothing important.”

“Tell me. We got time!” said Victor with a smile.

He wasn’t wrong. The somewhat sluggish pace Yuuri imprinted to their walk meant it would take them almost twice as long as it would if Victor were on his own (or if Yuuri were 23).

The small, encouraging squeeze Victor gave his hand reminded Yuuri they hadn’t let go of each other’s hands yet. He slackened his hand, allowing Victor to let go, but it only made Victor hold it more securely in his.

With his cheeks pleasantly warming up at that, Yuuri started his childhood story, and found Victor to be the most attentive kind of listener; he laughed and reacted in all the right places (“You can’t swim? Honestly, Yuuri!” and “oh, I _like_ Yuuko”, and “lesson learned, I hope!” when the story ended with Nishigori catching a cold from having to dive in to rescue Yuuri).

They crossed the bridge over the river and into the center of town, where the streets were large and expensively paved, houses were mansions, and carriages with ancestral coats of arms drove by. Victor and Yuuri found themselves constantly ducking from the parasols carried by high born ladies, who strolled by without a care in the world, or for other people walking nearby, and they could hear the sound of lute being played in the central square. In the distance, rising above every other building, the towers of the Leroy Palace with its proud flags fluttering in the breeze.

Seeing the usual flurry of activity made his heart catch in his chest. Missing your life from a distance is quite different from missing it when it’s right under your nose, but still out of reach.

Victor’s voice woke him from his painful reverie. “Yuuri?”

He shook his head. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you… say something?”

“I was ask– well, never mind. You know, I always wondered,” he pointed at the Kachu Tavern, “why that place is always closed in the afternoon. Wouldn’t they want to be open for lunch?”

A smile broke out across Yuuri’s face. “Yes, well… Mistress Okukawa is not a big fan of… waking up early.” Not that he could say much about it, but. “And she teaches dance in the afternoon, then manages the tavern at night and well into the first hours of the morning.”

What followed was a series of curious questions that Yuuri was more than happy to answer in detail, with a dozen stories about the woman he couldn't exactly say had been his own dance teacher. And Victor, in his turn, seemed to want to take as much advantage as possible of finally having a guide: he asked about the antique store, and the post office, and the hat shop, and that tacky mansion over there – and each answer came with a full report, plus a story of Yuuri’s younger days. That was where he’d knocked over a really expensive, really old vase and had to work at for months to make up for it; that was where he’d broken his arm trying to jump over the wall, and _that_ was where he used to wait for the postman every morning, waiting for the letters from his imaginary friend that never came; Victor gasped and clutched his chest at that last tidbit.

Before either of them noticed, they were in front of a two-storey building with a white and blue front, large glass doors and enormous show windows with colorful displays – rows of éclairs so abundantly covered in chocolate it made Yuuri’s mouth water; strawberry tarts shaped like roses, neatly lined up alongside small squares of red velvet cake so fluffy they would melt in one’s mouth. On a tiered silver platter there were caramel-apples-on-a-stick, tiny marzipan animals and macarons likely to taste as delicate as they looked. A varied assortment of cookies and little green caracs had been spread throughout the display with feigned nonchalance that was too careful to fool anyone.

Terra Incognita. The only place where Yuuri had spent almost as much time as Mistress Okukawa’s dance school. Where he’d always been welcome to the Chulanont’s pastries and smiles.

To go from sweet memories to bitter reality was a leap Yuuri would never have associated with that shop, and yet there he was. But then again, whatever expectations (or lack there of) he’d had out of life, they’d all been turned topsy-turvy with Madame Baranovskaya’s night incursion into Yu-topia. He shouldn’t be surprised at anything else at this point.

By his side, Victor held his breath. Yuuri figured he’d be anxious, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He had his own problems to deal with, and he strained his eyes to see inside the shop through the glass – no, Phichit was not there. Ever since Otabek had been hired, Phichit only worked mornings, unless it was a particularly busy day.

The shop was relatively empty now, however, with only one customer at the counter and another sitting at a far table; those who would go there for their coffee-and-dessert after lunch had already done so, and the place wouldn’t see a lot more movement until about four o’clock. If they were going in, the time was now.

He took the boots of Victor’s hands and looked at him. “Ready?”

A long, deep exhale. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

With a determined expression, Victor pushed the door open and they went in, making a couple of bells jingle and announce the arrival of new patrons. At the counter, Otabek spared them one brief glance at the sound of the bells, but his attention went quickly back to the gentleman in front of him. Either Otabek had not recognized Victor yet, or his famed poker face was truly impressive.

They stayed in line behind the customer, and Yuuri looked resolutely ahead, examining Otabek as discreetly as possible. He’d always found him nice looking – though not really Yuuri’s type – but now he scrutinized his face in search of flaws, anything to convince him that maybe Victor wouldn’t want to be with him after all.

But to his despair, all he found was a sharp jawline, great hair in one of those new, fashionable undercuts and a very nice set of collarbones peeking out from under the open collar of the white uniform. Nothing an 80-year-old man could compete with – and if he was being honest with himself, ordinary, round-faced 23-year-old Yuuri wouldn’t have fared much better either.

He threw Victor a longside glance, and found him surprisingly composed. How was he so calm? He’d been much more nervous about this before they’d left home! Maybe he just didn’t want to make a scene in a public place.

When Otabek handed the customer a parcel with a simple “thank you, have a nice day” and the man left, Victor stepped forward and Yuuri half hid himself behind Victor. A part of his brain screamed at the top of its lungs for him to leave, that he did not need to see what happened next; another part, however, was morbidly curious to watch. To see, even from the outside, what it would look like to be the recipient of Victor’s affections.

Victor leaned one arm on the counter and showered Otabek with a polite smile. “Hello, good afternoon!”

Otabek nodded curtly, impassive as always. “Hello, welcome to our shop. How can I help you?”

(Oh gods, he hadn’t recognized Victor. Had he been drunk at the Yulefest as well?)

“I was wondering if I could talk to Otabek Altin?”

_Wait._

Not one single line of Otabek’s expression moved. “That’s me.”

Victor blinked at him.

Yuuri blinked at Victor.

Otabek waited.

“No you’re not,” Victor blurted out.

Otabek raised his eyebrows. “Yes, I am.”

“Yes he is,” Yuuri interjected unhelpfully. He noticed Otabek’s gaze fall on him, move away, and then come back to him in a double-take.

Victor turned to him, looking completely lost. “You said he was Otabek!”

“And this _is_ Otabek! Is that not him?!”

“No! No, Otabek is different!”

Otabek cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I don't know how to make this clearer, but _I am_ Otabek.” A slight look of confusion had begun to creep into his countenance, and now that he was apparently no longer Victor's Mystery Man, Yuuri could well sympathize.

“No no no no, of course you are! And I'm sure you are a great one, too!” Victor was quick to reassure him. “It's just that the Otabek I'm looking for is… rather different.”

“Oh, I see. Well. If it helps, there are no other Otabeks in town.”

Victor turned to Yuuri, eyes wide in his hope for a contradiction, but Yuuri shook his head, baffled.

“Yeah, he's the one I was thinking of. If it's not him, then…” he shook his head again, not knowing what else to say.

With a groan, Victor dejectedly sunk towards the counter, hitting his head on it with a _thump_ that had Otabek flinching.

Yuuri awkwardly patted his back, all too conscious of Victor's misery, but also of his own heart beating a relieved tune in his chest. Not to mention Otabek’s eyes on him, as heavy and inescapable as a boulder in the middle of a road.

“ _Donyavenyothenployee_ ” mumbled Victor, his face and mouth plastered to the glass counter.

“Um. Sorry, Victor?”

Victor raised his head just enough to become intelligible again. “Don’t you have any other employees?” he asked, before letting his head thump on the counter again. Yuuri winced.

Even Otabek looked sympathetic at that point. “Sorry, it’s just me, Mr. and Mrs. Chulanont and our new hiring,” he said, pointing towards a boy waiting on a table on the other side of the shop. Yuuri’s heart gave an unpleasant jolt; he’d recognize that messy blonde hair with a single red streak in the front anywhere.

He immediately turned his back to that end of the shop. “You… hired young Kenjirou?” he asked, his voice instinctively going down to a whisper. “What about Phi? Um, young Chulanont?”

“Phichit left town some weeks ago,” said Otabek, and Yuuri’s eyes went wide. “He decided to go on his Journey after all. We got a letter from him last week, he’s in the Cialdini kingdom.”

Yuuri’s jaw dropped. Phichit had Gone On A Journey.

(And Yuuri still had a few blurred memories of drunk-crying himself to sleep on the night of Phichit’s eighteenth birthday. Of being sure his best friend would Go On A Journey and leave him behind. Of Phichit soothing him to sleep, promising him he wouldn’t.)

(And he hadn’t. Yuuri had been the one to leave him behind without so much as a warning.)

A long, squeaking noise snapped him out of his regrets: Victor, turning his face and forlornly dragging his nose across the glass to look at Kenjirou.

“That’s not him eeeeeither...” whined Victor, but Yuuri paid no attention: they had to leave Terra Incognita _now_. He hadn’t spent years as Kenjirou Minami’s babysitter, years of taking him to dance classes and helping him with homework, for nothing: he would be able to recognize Yuuri from miles away, curse or no curse, and almost as fast as his own mother.

With as much tenderness as he could imprint to his hurry, Yuuri tried to coax Victor out of there. Before he could succeed, however, he caught Otabek’s eyes once more, still fixated on him with an obvious mix of realization and dismay.

Otabek opened his mouth, but promptly shut it when Yuuri vehemently shook his head, eyes brimming with desperation. Understanding dawned on his face and he nodded; that silent interaction over Victor’s head had to be the most comforting part of Yuuri’s day so far.

(Apart from discovering that Otabek was not Victor’s Mystery Man, of course.)

With a parting nod towards Otabek, Yuuri got Victor off the counter, and after a final jingle of the door bells they were out of the shop. Gently, he guided Victor on the opposite direction of the central square, which would be full of people he’d known his entire life.

It was only when they were a few streets away from the shop that Victor seemed to wake up. “Yuuri, where are we going?”

“Um… home? The same way we came?”

Victor brought them to a halt (when had he taken Yuuri’s hand in his? Or had Yuuri taken Victor’s?). “Absolutely not. We have to get a carriage back home.”

“We… what? What for?” Yuuri asked, surprised. Where had that come from?

His question went ignored. “Where can we rent one?”

“Well, if you insist… there’s a coach rental service two streets from here. But Victor, are you sure –”

“Great! Lead the way, then!” said Victor, with not-quite-his-heart-smile. The disappointment of their afternoon expedition was obviously weighing on him, but he was trying, and Yuuri had never felt this guilty for being happy.

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting across from each other in a two-horse drawn coach, well on their way out of the capital. Yuuri relaxed against the seat and closed his eyes: the cushions were comfortable and the pace was quick, but not so quick that would give him motion-sickness. The way he’d felt after using the seven-league boots was enough to last him for –

– oh.

He opened his eyes.

That was why they were in a carriage now.

Yuuri looked at Victor, a question and a soft reprimand ready to fall from his lips – but the sight of Victor with his head against the window and eyes sadly fixed on the landscape passing them by made him give up.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes again and murmured, “Thank you, Victor.”

In return, he heard a soft “You’re welcome, Yuuri,” and felt a foot lightly nudge his leg.

 

* * *

 

The journey back home passed mostly in silence, with only a few sighs from Victor and a mumbled “after all, tomorrow is another day”. When the carriage finally stopped in front of the their home, the Ice Castle glittered pink in the twilight, and wide strips of golden orange tore across the dark blue sky. Just in time, too: Yuuri could already feel exhaustion taking over from the long trip.

Victor helped him get out of the coach and paid the (terrified) coachman; amusedly, they watched the carriage leave much faster than it had come.

“He seemed frightened,” said Victor, a distant note of humor in his voice. “Do you think it was my ‘the Ice Castle, please’ that scared him?”

Yuuri tried to contain a smile. “Maybe it was the bag of gold that you made appear out of thin air right under his nose.”

“Hmm, yes, that can’t have helped. Oh well.” He shrugged, walking towards the house, and they could already hear Maccachin impatient barks.

As soon as they were inside Victor opened his arms – only for Maccachin to run straight to Yuuri.

“Yuuriiiii!”

“I’m – I’m sorry, Victor,” he said in between two enthusiastic licks spreading slobber all over his face (Maccachin never did anything by halves).

“Must I really be forsaken by everyone? Ah, there’s my apprentice! Will you forget me too, Yurio?” he said, throwing himself on the three-legged chair and dangerously losing his balance for a second.

Yuuri raised his head. Yurio was standing very still at the door of his bedroom, staring at Victor. A quick look towards Yuuri told him everything he wanted to know – and if Victor didn’t notice his apprentice’s face lighting up ever so slightly, he couldn’t be blamed. It was really subtle, and Victor was in a very non-subtle mood.

“I try to forget you, but you won’t let me,” Yurio grumbled.

“No luck, Vitya?” was Lilac’s soft question from her perch on the mantelpiece. Victor only sighed more deeply, and Yuuri was certain he’d never seen anyone sigh for so long. That was a sigh to put an end to all sighs.

“I warned you, you’re looking in the wrong place,” said the light in its best I-told-you-so tone.

“How comforting. Forgive me if I don’t feel like talking about it any more today,” said Victor grumpily. And with that, he stood up and made for the stairs – but turned when Maccachin let go of Yuuri and started following him. “You little traitor,” he said with a chuckle. “At least _someone_ wants to share a bedroom with me.”

It was only through sheer willpower that Yuuri managed to not scream.

“Wait. Before you go mope in your bedroom,” said Yurio, grabbing an envelope from the table, “here’s someone who I _wish_ would forget you.”

Victor turned the envelope in his hands and raised an eyebrow. “Hmm, king Jack.”

“Jean-Jacques,” corrected Yuuri.

“Yeah, that. I’ll see what he wants. Thanks, Yurio.”

When the door upstairs was closed, Yurio pulled Yuuri towards the kitchen with as much delicacy a horse might use to pull a prisoner condemned to be quartered.

“So??” he demanded.

“So, nothing,” said Yuuri, pouring some water for himself. “Otabek is not Mystery Man.”

In retrospect, it made sense, and he felt like an idiot for even considering the possibility. After Victor’s endless descriptions of Mystery Man’s laughter and smiles, why had he thought that meant Otabek Altin, of all people?

But Yurio was not convinced. “Are you sure?”

“Victor is sure.”

The sound of hurried steps bouncing down the stairs in twos interrupted the conversation, and Victor erupted into the kitchen, braid half undone and an urgent look on his face.

“Yuuri, Yurio! We’re going back to the capital in the morning, be ready at seven.”

“What, why?! Ugh, don’t tell me we’re going to see stupid JJ,” complained Yurio.

“Yes, we are,” answered Victor, and Yurio started to protest, while Yuuri himself silently wondered if he could be excused from the morning trip – but the next words out of Victor’s mouth immediately muted whatever objections they might have raised.

“Chris has gone missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "After all, tomorrow is another day." (Scarlet O'Hara, _Gone With The Wind_ )  
> If you think Victor Nikiforov has not read or watched this masterpiece, I very much fear you're mistaken XD
> 
> After a long wait, here it is! This is due to a combination of me being a slow writer + these chapters being long + zine projects + christmas exchanges (which resulted in yet another WIP, and I'm dead) + real life. I'm so sorry. The only thing I can absolutely guarantee is that this fic will be over this first semester of 2018!
> 
> All the thanks to [Rae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/regardinglove), my fandom wife and beta, whose infinite enthusiasm and willingness to help always keep me going! ^^ Also: *blows kisses to all my lads* thanks for the support and encouragement too! <3
> 
> I kinda snuck in a reference to a Disney song in here XD Who spotted it?!
> 
> As usual, come scream with me about YOI or Howl's Moving Castle on [tumblr](http://thehobbem.tumblr.com/)!


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